ore I could speak, Emilia, not
noticing my excitement, had snatched away the handkerchief from the
chair, and with mischievous glee picked out my pink pet.

"See, Margaret," she cried, "this is the 'ladye fair,' Lois's familiar."

I had found my voice by now--found it indeed; it would have been better
had I remained silent.

"Oh, you mean girl!" I exclaimed. "Oh, you bad, wicked sister! You've
been listening at the door; am I not even to be allowed the privacy of
my own chamber?" I was growing dramatic in my excitement, and
unconsciously using the language of some of my persecuted heroines.

"Lois," cried Margaret, "do not excite yourself so. We did not listen at
the door, but you were speaking so loud, I assure you it was impossible
not to hear you."

Somewhat softened and yet inexpressibly annoyed, I turned to Margaret,
unfortunately in time to see that it was only by the greatest efforts
she was controlling her laughter. My words and manner had been too much
for her, anxious as she was to quell the storm.

"I will bear no more," I said passionately. "Unnatural sisters that you
are to jeer and mock at me. Give me my shell, Emilia. How dare you touch
it?"

Startled, and really a little frightened by my manner, Emilia silently
held out the shell. I snatched at it, how it was I never could
tell--whether she or I dropped it I know not, nor do I know whose foot
trod on it, but so it was. In the scuffle my treasure fell to the
ground; my pink pet was crushed into a little heap of shell dust.

"Oh, Lois, dear Lois, I am so sorry," exclaimed Emilia, all her mischief
and glee at an end. But I did not speak. For a moment I stared at the
fatal spot on the floor, then stooping down I scooped up as well as I
could the fragments of what had been so dear to me, and hiding them in
my hand rushed from the room, still without speaking. I really hardly
knew what I was doing; afterwards I remembered hearing Emilia say in a
frightened tone--

"Margaret, what can we do? I never saw Lois like that before. Can she be
going out of her mind?"

I thought I _was_ going out of my mind. Even now, children, old woman as
I am, I cannot bear to recall the misery of that time. I ran out into
the garden, and lay with my face hidden in an old deserted arbour, where
I trusted no one would come to seek me. I had put the "ashes" of my
favourite into the pill-box, and held it in my hands while I cried and
sobbed with mingled anger and grief. The