ied, angrily. "I want to be
like this--_just like this_. Get away! Leave me alone! How long will it
take?--the Lord only knows. I couldn't ask the drug-clerk."

"Well, I'll leave you, then," Lizzie said, slightly offended.

Jane made no response, and Lizzie started to leave the room. She noticed
the lamp and paused. "She might get up and knock it over," she thought,
and, blowing her breath down the chimney, she extinguished the flame.

She was in her room, still undressed, when she heard the gate being
opened. She went to the head of the stairs and listened. There was a
vigorous rap. Lizzie went down the stairs and opened the door.

A man she knew to be Doctor Brackett stood on the porch, a satchel in
his hand. His horse was at the gate.

"I'm just in from Atlanta," he explained, hurriedly. "I have a new clerk
at my store, and in looking over his prescriptions I saw that he had
sold Miss Holder quite a quantity of morphine tablets. You see, from the
talk that is going on in town I was afraid she might have taken an--an
overdose--you know what I mean?"

"I think something _is_ wrong with her," Lizzie cried, aghast. "Hurry!
Come! I'll light her lamp!"

Lizzie fairly ran up the steps and into Jane's room. She struck a match
and lighted the lamp. The doctor followed her and bent over the sleeping
woman. He opened her dress, quickly cut her corset-laces, and made an
examination. Then, standing up, he turned to the bureau and began to
search the littered top of it.

"Oh, here we are!" he exclaimed, in relief, as he picked up a vial
containing morphine tablets and shook them between him and the light.
"She's had a close shave. She thought she was taking enough."

"You mean that she--"

"Oh yes." The doctor put the vial into his pocket. "It is a plain case.
Her mind is out of order. She actually--so my clerk heard to-night--went
to the undertaker's and asked him the prices of various costly caskets.
The undertaker thought she was referring to her recent bad news. She
will come out of this sleep all right. But the truth is she can't
recover. It is only a question of a week or two now. In fact, she won't
get up from this. She hasn't the vitality. She has literally burned
herself out and been living on her energies and nerves. She couldn't
stand the shock of that sad calamity. I am sorry for you, too, Mrs.
Trott. John was a fine boy. Now leave her just as she is. She will be
easier handled in the morning. She is in no i