le of dress.

And this money. He guessed where it came from. She must have sold a
bond left to her by a friend some years ago, which she called her
rainy-day legacy. He fiercely promised himself he would pay it back.

But in the terrible fear that she would not recover, this thought
ceased to console him. What if he should never have the opportunity to
tell her how sorry he was, how ashamed? The doctor looked very grave,
the nurse and Miss Virginia shook their heads and said, "No better."
Norah was the only one who gave him any encouragement. She bade him
not give up yet, and devised errands to distract him from his misery,
and make him feel that he was of some use. He hung upon her words with
such an appealing face her heart was touched, for she guessed that
remorse mingled with his sorrow.

There came a dreadful day when even she had no hopeful word to say;
when, hurrying home at the earliest moment, he found the house hushed
in a terrible suspense.

Miss Virginia sat with Mrs. Leigh, and they talked of Miss Sarah, and
wiped the tears from their eyes as if she were already dead. Wayland
could not endure it.

In his longing for comfort he thought of Madelaine. Surely, she would
be kind to him now. She was tender-hearted and sympathetic; just the
touch of her pretty hand would help him. He had not seen her for more
than a week.

Miss Madelaine was dressing to go out, but would see him for a moment
if he cared to wait, the servant said; and presently as he strode back
and forth, too restless to sit down, she floated in, lovely and
gracious as ever.

"I am going to dinner at the Mays'. I am sorry I can't see you for
more than a minute. How is Miss Sarah to-night?"

"No better--worse," Wayland answered brokenly, holding fast the hand
she offered him. Gently Madelaine drew it away, and began to put on
her glove.

"I am _so_ sorry," she said, "but you mustn't despair. I am sure she
is going to get well."

Upon Wayland's sensitive ear the words fell with a hollowness almost
unbearable. "She does not care at all," he told himself.

This was perhaps a little unjust to Madelaine. She was very full at
that moment of the joy of living; she knew nothing by experience, of
illness and death. She was sorry for Wayland, but the thought of the
evening's pleasure was not for an instant dimmed by it.

Wayland went blindly home again, conscious of nothing but the pain in
his heart. At the door Norah met him with a note whic