devolved. Mr. Ramy, when consulted, had not only confirmed the
dress-maker's report, but had offered to find some safe investment which
should give the sisters a higher rate of interest than the suspected
savings bank; and Ann Eliza knew that Evelina alluded to the suggested
transfer.

"Why, yes, to be sure," she agreed. "Mr. Ramy said if he was us he
wouldn't want to leave his money there any longer'n he could help."

"It was over a week ago he said it," Evelina reminded her.

"I know; but he told me to wait till he'd found out for sure about that
other investment; and we ain't seen him since then."

Ann Eliza's words released their secret fear. "I wonder what's happened
to him," Evelina said. "You don't suppose he could be sick?"

"I was wondering too," Ann Eliza rejoined; and the sisters looked down
at their plates.

"I should think you'd oughter do something about that money pretty
soon," Evelina began again.

"Well, I know I'd oughter. What would you do if you was me?"

"If I was YOU," said her sister, with perceptible emphasis and a rising
blush, "I'd go right round and see if Mr. Ramy was sick. YOU could."

The words pierced Ann Eliza like a blade. "Yes, that's so," she said.

"It would only seem friendly, if he really IS sick. If I was you I'd go
to-day," Evelina continued; and after dinner Ann Eliza went.

On the way she had to leave a parcel at the dyer's, and having performed
that errand she turned toward Mr. Ramy's shop. Never before had she felt
so old, so hopeless and humble. She knew she was bound on a love-errand
of Evelina's, and the knowledge seemed to dry the last drop of young
blood in her veins. It took from her, too, all her faded virginal
shyness; and with a brisk composure she turned the handle of the
clock-maker's door.

But as she entered her heart began to tremble, for she saw Mr. Ramy, his
face hidden in his hands, sitting behind the counter in an attitude of
strange dejection. At the click of the latch he looked up slowly, fixing
a lustreless stare on Ann Eliza. For a moment she thought he did not
know her.

"Oh, you're sick!" she exclaimed; and the sound of her voice seemed to
recall his wandering senses.

"Why, if it ain't Miss Bunner!" he said, in a low thick tone; but he
made no attempt to move, and she noticed that his face was the colour of
yellow ashes.

"You ARE sick," she persisted, emboldened by his evident need of help.
"Mr. Ramy, it was real unfriendly of you no