began--and checked herself with a start, "Kitty!" she exclaimed,
"Crying?"

The child ran to her mother with tears in her eyes. "Look at Syd!
She sulks; she cries; she won't talk to me--send for the doctor."

"You tiresome child, I don't want the doctor. I'm not ill."

"There, mamma!" cried Kitty. "She never scolded me before
to-day."

In other words, here was a complete reversal of the usual order
of things in the schoolroom. Patient Sydney was out of temper;
gentle Sydney spoke bitterly to the little friend whom she loved.
Mrs. Linley drew a chair to the governess's side, and took her
hand. The strangely altered girl tore her hand away and burst
into a violent fit of crying. Puzzled and frightened, Kitty (to
the best of a child's ability) followed her example. Mrs. Linley
took her daughter on her knee, and gave Sydney's outbreak of
agitation time to subside. There were no feverish appearances in
her face, there was no feverish heat in her skin when their hands
had touched each other for a moment. In all probability the
mischief was nervous mischief, and the outburst of weeping was an
hysterical effort at relief.

"I am afraid, my dear, you have had a bad night," Mrs. Linley
said.

"Bad? Worse than bad!"