rned away.

One of the maids had rocked little Pearl to sleep, and the babe lay
slumbering quietly in her crib.

Dorothy did not go toward it, as was her wont upon entering her room at
night--indeed, she had forgotten about the child until she heard her
cough, a little later on.

She was just about to cross the room to the little one, when one of the
maids came hurriedly to her door.

"Would you mind sitting up with Miss Staples?" she cried, breathlessly;
"she is anything but well. It looks to me as though she has a fever, but
she will not hear to having a doctor called, or even of letting Mrs.
Garner know how ill she is. She declares that, with a good night's rest,
she will be all right in the morning."

Dorothy went hastily to Jessie Staples' room, while the girl remained to
take charge of the child for the night.

She found Jessie as the maid had declared--quite ill and
feverish-looking, but still wearing the soft chiffon dress she had worn
at the opera, with the sapphire necklace gleaming on her white throat,
and bracelets shining on her polished arms.

Dorothy went quickly up to her.

"You must let me remove these things, and get you into bed at once," she
said coaxingly but firmly. "Your face is scarlet, and your hands
tremble. You must take some hot lemonade, and go quietly to sleep."

Jessie was quite passive under her commands, but the pain in her head
did not seem to abate.

For long hours, Dorothy worked patiently with her to allay the fever,
but it seemed to increase with every moment.

She wanted to arouse the household, and send for a doctor, but Jessie
pleaded most pitifully.

"You are very, very ill," cried Dorothy, in agony. "I must send for some
one, or you will die!"

"Hush! I want to die!" cried Jessie, in a low whisper; "that is just it;
I do not want to live."

Dorothy tried to soothe her, thinking it was but the idle vagaries of a
wandering mind.

CHAPTER XXX.

"Hush!" cried Jessie, sinking back on her pillow, and clutching
frantically the hand that held hers. "You must not call any one. I want
to die! I am so tired of living. I want to tell you my story, Mrs.
Brown--it seems to me that I shall go wild if I do not tell some one;
and you seem so sympathetic and kind. May I trust you?" she whispered,
with a great tremor in her voice.

"Yes," said Dorothy, slowly; "anything that you may say to me I will
hold sacred."

"You are very good," returned the other. "You woul