have grown during her illness to
twice their former size. "Go--away," she said, in her whispering voice,
which preserved even in its faintness the remains of her former clear
utterance.

"What?" said the astonished Betty, not sure that she had heard aright.

"I wish--you would go--away," repeated Mrs. Thorne, slowly. And with her
finger she made a little line in the air, which seemed to indicate, like
a dotted curve on a map, Betty's course from the bed to the door.

Betty gave her fan to Margaret. Incapable of resentment, the good soul
whispered to Garda, as she passed: "They're very often so, you
know--sick people; they get tired of seeing the same persons about them,
of course, and I am sure it's _very_ natural. I'll come back later, when
she's asleep."

"I was not tired of seeing her, that wasn't it," murmured Mrs. Thorne,
who had overheard this aside. "But I wanted to see Margaret Harold
alone, and without any fuss made about it; and the first step was to get
_her_ out of the room. Now, Edgarda, you go too. Go down to the garden,
where Mrs. Carew will not see you; stay there a while, the fresh air
will do you good."

"But, mamma, I don't think I ought to leave you."

"Do as I tell you, my daughter. If I should need anything, Margaret will
call you."

"You need not be afraid, Garda, that I shall not know how to take care
of her," said Margaret, reassuringly. "I am a good nurse." She arranged
Mrs. Thorne's pillows as she spoke, and gently and skilfully laid her
down upon them again.

"Of course," whispered Mrs. Thorne. "Any one could see that." Then, as
Garda still lingered, "Go, Garda," she said, briefly. And Garda went.

As soon as the heavy door closed behind her, Mrs. Thorne began to speak.
"I have been so anxious to see you," she said; "the thought has not
been once out of my mind. But I suppose my mind has not been perfectly
clear, because, though I have asked for you over and over again, no one
has paid any attention, has seemed to understand me." She spoke in her
little thread of a voice, and looked at her visitor with large, clear
eyes.

Margaret bent over her. "Do not exert yourself to talk to me now," she
answered. "You will be stronger to-morrow."

"Yes, I may be stronger to-morrow. How long can you stay?"

"Several days, if you care to have me."

"That _is_ kind. I shall have time, then. But I mustn't wait too long;
of one thing I am sure, Margaret: I shall not recover."

"That is a fan