onsumptive," commented a third. "It is astonishing to
remark how many come to 'try Switzerland,' as they say."

"And die?"

"And die,--as this one will."

"Poor little thing!" with a sigh and a pitying shrug of the shoulders.

And in the meantime up-stairs the basket chair had been taken away from
the window, and a large-cushioned, chintz-covered couch had been pushed
into its place, and Dolly lay upon it. But luxurious as her couch was,
and balmy as the air was, coming through the widely opened window, she
did not find much rest. The fact was, she was past rest by this time,
she was too weak to rest. The hot days tried her, and her sleepless
nights undermined even her last feeble relic of strength. Sometimes
during the day she felt that she could not lie propped up on the pillows
a moment longer; but when she tried to stand or sit up she was glad
to drop back again into the old place. She lost her breath fearfully
soon,--the least exertion left her panting.

"If I had a cough," she said once to Miss MacDowlas, "I could understand
that I was ill--or if I suffered any actual pain, but I don't, and even
the doctor admits that my lungs are safe enough. What is it that he says
about me? Let me see. Ah, this is it: that I am 'below par--fearfully
below par,' as if I was gold, or notes, or bonds, or something. My ideas
on the subject of the money market are indefinite, you see. Ah, well; I
wonder when I shall be 'above par'!"

She never spoke of her ailments in any other strain. Even as she lay
on her couch, too prostrate to either read or work, she made audacious
satirical speeches, and told Miss MacDowlas stories of Vagabondia, just
as she used to tell them to Grif himself, only that in these days she
could not get up to flourish illustratively; and often after lying for
an hour or so in a dead, heavy, exhausting day-sleep, she opened her
eyes at last, to jest about her faithful discharge of her duties as
companion. Only she herself knew of the fierce battles she so often
fought in secret, when her sore, aching heart cried out so loud for Grif
and would not--_would_ not be comforted.

She saw Phemie frequently. The much-abused professor had proved himself
a faithful friend to them. He had never been quite able to forget the
little English governess, who had so won upon him in the past, even
though this same young lady, in her anxiety to set Lady Augusta at
defiance, had treated him somewhat cavalierly. Indeed, hearin