ing particularly pressing.

"I will wait for you, Miriam."

She now hated Andrew as much as she did Miss Tippit.

"Absurd to talk of waiting. You know nothing about it. Go on. Don't
stay for me. Of course I must give it up altogether;" and she clutched
at her bonnet-strings, and tore her bonnet off her head. The doctor
was amazed, and doubted for a moment whether it would not be better to
do without her help.

"It doesn't matter, Miss Tacchi," said Mr. Montgomery; "I shall not be
on for an hour and a half, but I must be there. If you will come with
your brother, you will be in plenty of time."

She sullenly went upstairs, and Andrew remained below. When she
entered the room she shut the door with some vehemence, and the little
maid-of-all-work, who was at the head of the bed, came to meet her.

"Oh, if you please, Miss Tacchi, the doctor said she was to be kept so
quiet. Poor Miss Tippit; she is very bad, Miss; I think she's
insensible."

"You need not tell me what to do. I know just as well as yourself."

The sufferer lay perfectly still, and apparently unconscious. Miriam
looked at her for a moment; and felt rebuked, but went and sat by the
fire.

"I don't mind doing anything for her," she said to herself, "although,
she is no particular friend of mine, and not a person whom it is a
pleasure to assist; but I really don't know whether, in justice to
myself and Andrew, I ought to remain, seeing how seldom we get a chance
of enjoying ourselves, and how important a change is for both of us."

There is no person whom we can more easily deceive--no, not even the
silliest gull--than ourselves. We are always perfectly willing to deny
ourselves to any extent, or even to ruin ourselves, but unfortunately
it does not seem right we should do so. It is not selfishness, but a
moral obligation which intervenes.

The man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves
was left half-dead. The priest and the Levite, who came and looked and
passed by on the other side, assuredly convinced themselves that most
likely the swooning wretch was not alive. They were on most important
professional errands. _Ought_ they to run the risk of entirely
upsetting those solemn, engagements by incurring the Levitical penalty
of contact with a corpse? There was but a mere chance that they could
do any good. This person was entirely unknown to them; his life might
not be worth saving, for he might be a rascal;