the appetite you once had?"

"No; but it is not because I am ill."

"You remember this little ring fastened to my watch-chain? It was my
mother's, and is too small to pass the joint of my little finger. You
have many a time sportively purloined it. It fitted your fore-finger.
Try now."

She permitted the test. The ring dropped from the wasted little hand.
Louis picked it up, and reattached it to the chain. An uneasy flush
coloured his brow. Shirley again said, "It is not because I am ill."

"Not only have you lost sleep, appetite, and flesh," proceeded Moore,
"but your spirits are always at ebb. Besides, there is a nervous alarm
in your eye, a nervous disquiet in your manner. These peculiarities were
not formerly yours."

"Mr. Moore, we will pause here. You have exactly hit it. I am nervous.
Now, talk of something else. What wet weather we have--steady, pouring
rain!"

"_You_ nervous? Yes; and if Miss Keeldar is nervous, it is not without a
cause. Let me reach it. Let me look nearer. The ailment is not physical.
I have suspected that. It came in one moment. I know the day. I noticed
the change. Your pain is mental."

"Not at all. It is nothing so dignified--merely nervous. Oh! dismiss the
topic."

"When it is exhausted; not till then. Nervous alarms should always be
communicated, that they may be dissipated. I wish I had the gift of
persuasion, and could incline you to speak willingly. I believe
confession, in your case, would be half equivalent to cure."

"No," said Shirley abruptly. "I wish that were at all probable; but I am
afraid it is not."

She suspended her work a moment. She was now seated. Resting her elbow
on the table, she leaned her head on her hand. Mr. Moore looked as if he
felt he had at last gained some footing in this difficult path. She was
serious, and in her wish was implied an important admission; after that
she could no longer affirm that _nothing_ ailed her.

The tutor allowed her some minutes for repose and reflection ere he
returned to the charge. Once his lips moved to speak, but he thought
better of it, and prolonged the pause. Shirley lifted her eye to his.
Had he betrayed injudicious emotion, perhaps obstinate persistence in
silence would have been the result; but he looked calm, strong,
trustworthy.

"I had better tell _you_ than my aunt," she said, "or than my cousins,
or my uncle. They would all make such a bustle, and it is that very
bustle I dread--the alarm, the flurr