hin and weak that Mona could hardly
recognize it.

For some time they could make nothing of her words, and only tried to
soothe her, but after a while it became clear to them that she was
repeating something which sounded like poetry. Still they could make
nothing out of it, for sometimes several words would be lost from a
line, and occasionally a whole line would be repeated by those pale lips
without a sound.

At length Minnie caught a whole line. What the words were which went
before she could not tell, but the words she caught came clear and
distinct:

"It went up Single, Echoless,--'My God I am deserted.'"

The words "Single, Echoless" were uttered with a strange sort of
triumphant emphasis which struck both the girls, and then the feeble
voice went on more brokenly even than before with a few lines more, and
then suddenly ceased.

Minnie repeated the line over.

"I wonder what it is from," she said. "I am sure I have read it often,
but I cannot remember where."

"I can't tell just at this minute either," remarked Mona, "I know it
perfectly well though. If we could only get hold of it, reading it to
her might do her any amount of good."

"That is just what I was thinking about," returned Minnie, "I wish we
could find it."

"I've got it!" exclaimed Mona, at last, with a suppressed shriek of
triumph. "It's in Mrs. Browning."

* * * * *

He looked very grave indeed on this occasion which was his third visit
that day. A crisis, he said, would probably take place that night; he
promised to come again before the time he expected it would occur; but
held but very little hope as to its ultimate issue.

When he arrived, Mabel was in a state of high delirium, and raved in a
way which made Minnie pale with terror. After about half-an-hour of
wild, disconnected raving, she became a little quieter, and at last
settled down to the old habit of repeating verses--verses which Minnie
now recognised as belonging to Mrs. Browning's poem on Cowper's Grave.

She drew the doctor out into an adjoining room and explained to him the
idea which had occurred to her in connection with Mabel's constant
repetition of this poem, asking if he did not think it might have some
good effect.

"Well," he said, "I must tell you plainly that I am afraid it cannot
have any good effect, but at any rate it cannot have any bad effect, and
she is only wearing herself out more quickly as it is."--"Yes," he