t three o'clock, I was called to dinner, no
appetite remained. I put food into my mouth, but it had no sweetness,
and the little I forced myself to swallow, lay undigested. You were
very much occupied, and did not notice me particularly. I dragged on,
as best I could, through the afternoon, feeling, sometimes, as if I
would drop from my chair. You had tea later than usual. It was nearly
seven o'clock when I put up my work and went down. You said something
in a kind, but absent tone, about my looking pale, and asked if I would
have a second cup of tea. I believe I forced myself to eat a slice of
bread half as large as my hand. I thought I should never reach home
that night, for the weakness that came upon me. I got to bed as soon as
possible, but was too tired to sleep until after twelve o'clock, when a
coughing spell seized me, which brought on the pain in my side. It was
near daylight when I dropped off; and then I slept so heavily for two
hours that I was all wet with perspiration when I awoke. On trying to
rise, my head swam so that I had to lie down again, and it was late in
the day before I could even sit up in bed. Towards evening, I was able
to drink a cup of tea and eat a small piece of toast and then I felt
wonderfully better. I slept well that night, and was still better in
the morning, but did not think it safe to venture out upon a day's
work; so I rested and got all the strength I could. On the third day, I
was as well as ever again."

Mrs. Wykoff drew a long sigh as Miss Carson stopped speaking and bent
down over her sewing. For some time, she remained without speaking.

"Life is too precious a thing to be wasted in this way," said the lady,
at length, speaking partly to herself, and partly to the seamstress.
"We are too thoughtless, I must own; but you are not blameless. It is
scarcely possible for us to understand just how the case stands with
one in your position, and duty to yourself demands that you should make
it known. There is not one lady in ten, I am sure, who would not be
pleased rather than annoyed, to have you do so."

Miss Carson did not answer.

"Do you doubt?" asked Mrs. Wykoff.

"For one of my disposition," was replied, "the life of a seamstress
does not take off the keen edge of a natural reserve--or, to speak more
correctly sensitiveness. I dislike to break in upon another's household
arrangements, or in any way to obtrude myself. My rule is, to adapt
myself, as best I can, to the f