be I shall die," she whispered, "and then----"

She did not finish the sentence, neither was it necessary, for John
Jr. understood what she meant, and with his conscience smiting him as
it did, he felt half inclined to declare, with his usual
impulsiveness, that it should never be; but the rash promise was not
made, and it was far better that it should not be.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE SHADOW.

Mabel's nerves had received too great a shock to rally immediately, and
as day after day went by, she still kept her room, notwithstanding the
very pointed hints of her mother-in-law that "she was making believe
for the sake of sympathy." Why didn't she get up and go out
doors--anybody would be sick to be flat on their back day in and day
out; or did she think she was spiting her by showing what muss she
could keep the "best chamber" in if she chose?

This last was undoubtedly the grand secret of Mrs. Livingstone's
dissatisfaction. Foiled in her efforts to dislodge them, she would not
yield without an attempt at making Mabel, at least, as uncomfortable in
mind as possible. Accordingly, almost every day when her son was not
present, she conveyed from the room some nice article of furniture,
substituting in its place one of inferior quality, which was quite good
enough, she thought, for a penniless bride.

"'Pears like ole miss goin' to make a clean finish of her dis time,"
said Aunt Milly, who watched her mistress' daily depredations. "Ole
Sam done got title deed of her, sure enough. Ki! won't she ketch it in
t'other world, when he done show her his cloven foot, and won't she
holler for old Milly to fotch her a drink of water? not particular
then--drink out of the bucket, gourd-shell, or anything; but dis
nigger'll 'sign her post in de parlor afore she'll go."

"Why, Milly," said 'Lena, who overheard this colloquy, "don't you know
it's wrong to indulge in such wicked thoughts?"

"Bless you, child," returned the old negress, "she 'sarves 'em all for
treatin' that poor, dear lamb so. I'd 'nihilate her if I's Miss Mabel."

"No, no, Milly," said Aunt Polly, who was present. "You must heap
coals of fire on her head."

"Yes, yes, that's it--she orto have 'em," quickly responded Milly,
thinking Polly's method of revenge the very best in the world, provided
the coals were "bilin' hot," and with this reflection she started
upstairs, with a bowl of nice, warm gruel she had been preparing for
the invalid.

Several times