llen but for Jane's assistance.

The two had now reached the hand-railing of the porch. Here Martha's
trembling foot began to feel about for the step. Jane caught her in her
arms.

"You're ill, Martha!" she cried in alarm. "Give me the bag. What's the
matter?"

Again Martha did not answer.

"Tell me what it is."

"Upstairs! Upstairs!" Martha gasped in reply. "Quick!"

"What has happened?"

"Not here; upstairs."

They climbed the staircase together, Jane half carrying the fainting
woman, her mind in a whirl.

"Where were you taken ill? Why did you try to come home? Why didn't
Lucy come with you?"

They had reached the door of Jane's bedroom now, Martha clinging to her
arm.

Once inside, the nurse leaned panting against the door, put her bands
to her face as if she would shut out some dreadful spectre, and sank
slowly to the floor.

"It is not me," she moaned, wringing her hands, "not me--not--"

"Who?"

"Oh, I can't say it!"

"Lucy?"

"Yes"

"Not ill?"

"No; worse!"

"Oh, Martha! Not dead?"

"O God, I wish she were!"

An hour passed--an hour of agony, of humiliation and despair.

Again the door opened and Jane stepped out--slowly, as if in pain, her
lips tight drawn, her face ghastly white, the thin cheeks sunken into
deeper hollows, the eyes burning. Only the mouth preserved its lines,
but firmer, more rigid, more severe, as if tightened by the strength of
some great resolve. In her hand she held a letter.

Martha lay on the bed, her face to the wall, her head still in her
palms. She had ceased sobbing and was quite still, as if exhausted.

Jane leaned over the banisters, called to one of the servants, and
dropping the letter to the floor below, said:

"Take that to Captain Holt's. When he comes bring him upstairs here
into my sitting-room."

Before the servant could reply there came a knock at the front door.
Jane knew its sound--it was Doctor John's. Leaning far over, grasping
the top rail of the banisters to steady herself, she said to the
servant in a low, restrained voice:

"If that is Dr. Cavendish, please say to him that Martha is just home
from Trenton, greatly fatigued, and I beg him to excuse me. When the
doctor has driven away, you can take the letter."

She kept her grasp on the hand-rail until she heard the tones of his
voice through the open hall door and caught the note of sorrow that
tinged them.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Poor Martha!" she heard him say. "She is getti