n amount of money, and
money Alice had not--not even enough to pay a Chinaman for "doing up"
one of her pretty muslins. Neither had she the facilities for doing them
herself, had she been skilled in that sort of labor; for even to do your
own washing and ironing pre-supposes the usual conveniences of a
laundry, and these did not belong to the furniture of the outside
kitchen. She had not worn her linen lawn since the visit to the mill.
The dust which blew freely through every crack of the shrunken boards
precluded such extravagance. Thus it happened that a soiled cashmere
wrapper was her afternoon wear. She had faded a good deal since her
coming to Deep Canon; but still looked pretty and graceful, and rather
too _spirituelle_.

The Doctor held in his hand, on the point of a knife, the flower of a
cactus very common in the mountains, which he presented her, warning her
at the same time against its needle-like thorns.

"It makes me sick," said Alice hastily, throwing it away. "It is the
color of gold, which I want so much; and of the sunshine, which I hate
so."

"I brought it to you to show you the little emerald bee that is always
to be found in one: it is wonderously beautiful,--a living gem, is it
not?"

"Yes, I know," Alice said, "I admired the first one I saw; but I admire
nothing any longer--nothing at least which surrounds me here."

"I understand that, of course," returned the Doctor. "It is because your
health is failing you--because the air disagrees with you."

"And because my husband is so unfortunate. If he could only get away
from here--and I!" The vanity of such a supposition, in their present
circumstances, brought the tears to her eyes and a quiver about her
mouth.

"Why did you ever come here! Why did he ever ask you to come;--how
_dared_ he?" demanded the Doctor, setting his teeth together.

"That is a strange question, Doctor!" Mrs. Hastings answered with
dignity, lifting her head like an antelope. "My husband was deceived by
the same hopes which have ruined others. If I suffer, it is because we
are both unfortunate."

"What will he do next?" questioned the Doctor curtly. The cruel meaning
caused the blood to forsake her cheeks.

"I cannot tell what he will do,"--her brief answer rounded by an
expressive silence.

"You might help him: shall I point out the way to you?"--watching her
intently.

"Can you? _can_ I help him?"--her whole form suddenly inspired with
fresh life.

Dr. Earle