whose object had escaped her memory.

Once, when Evelina felt better, she expressed a desire to make
some artificial flowers, and Ann Eliza, deluded by this awakening
interest, got out the faded bundles of stems and petals and the
little tools and spools of wire. But after a few minutes the work
dropped from Evelina's hands and she said: "I'll wait until to-
morrow."

She never again spoke of the flower-making, but one day, after
watching Ann Eliza's laboured attempt to trim a spring hat for Mrs.
Hawkins, she demanded impatiently that the hat should be brought to
her, and in a trice had galvanized the lifeless bow and given the
brim the twist it needed.

These were rare gleams; and more frequent were the days of
speechless lassitude, when she lay for hours silently staring at
the window, shaken only by the hard incessant cough that sounded to
Ann Eliza like the hammering of nails into a coffin.

At length one morning Ann Eliza, starting up from the mattress
at the foot of the bed, hastily called Miss Mellins down, and ran
through the smoky dawn for the doctor. He came back with her and
did what he could to give Evelina momentary relief; then he went
away, promising to look in again before night. Miss Mellins, her
head still covered with curl-papers, disappeared in his wake, and
when the sisters were alone Evelina beckoned to Ann Eliza.

"You promised," she whispered, grasping her sister's arm; and
Ann Eliza understood. She had not yet dared to tell Miss Mellins