stions with her usual discretion. "You must, dear."

But Dolly did not stir.

"I don't want any more," she said. "I am not going to faint again. You
have no need to be afraid. I don't easily faint, you know, and I should
not have fainted just now only--that the day has been a very hard one
for me, and somehow I lost strength all at once. I am not ill,--only
worn out."

"You must be very much worn out, then," said Aimee; "more worn out than
I ever saw you before. You had better let me help you up-stairs to bed."

"I don't want to go to bed yet!" in a strange, choked voice, and the
next moment Aimee saw her hands clench themselves and her whole frame
begin to shake. "Shut the door and lock it," she said, wildly. "I can't
stop myself. Give me some sal volatile. I can't breathe." And such a fit
of suffocating sobbing came upon her that she writhed and battled for
air.

Aimee flung herself upon her knees by her side, shedding tears herself.

"Oh, Dolly," she pleaded, "Dolly, darling, don't. Try to help yourself
against it. I know what the trouble is. He went away angry and
disappointed, and it has frightened you. Oh, please don't, darling. He
will come back to-morrow; he will, indeed. He always does, you know, and
he will be so sorry."

"He has gone forever," Dolly panted, when she could speak. "He will
never come back. To-night has been different from any other time. No,"
gasping and sobbing, "it is fate. Fate is against us,--it always was
against us. I think God is against us; and oh, how can He be? He might
pity us,--we tried so hard and loved each other so much. We did n't ask
for anything but each other,--we did n't want anything but that we might
be allowed to cling together all our lives and work and help each other.
Oh, Grif, my darling,--oh, Grif, my dear, my dear!" And the sobs rising
again and conquering her were such an agony that Aimee caught her in her
arms.

"Dolly," she said, "you must not, you must not, indeed. You will die,
you can't bear it."

"No," she wailed, "I can't bear it,--that is what it is. I can't bear
it. It is too hard to bear. But there is no one to help me,--God won't.
He does not care for us, or He would have given us just one little crumb
out of all He has to give. What can a poor helpless girl be to Him? He
is too high and great to care for our poor little powerless griefs. Oh,
how wicked I am!" in a fresh burst. "See how I rebel at the first real
blow. It is because I am so wic