"I'm afraid you are not as well as usual."

The seamstress lifted herself in a tired way, and took a long
breath, at the same time holding one hand tightly against her left
side. Her eyes looked very bright, as they rested, with a sober
expression, on Mrs. Wykoff. But she did not reply.

"Have you severe pain there, Mary?" The voice was very kind; almost
motherly.

"Not very severe. But it aches in a dull way."

"Hadn't you better lie down for a little while?"

"Oh, no--thank you, Mrs. Wykoff." And a smile flitted over the
girl's sweet, sad face; a smile that was meant to say--"How absurd
to think of such a thing!" She was there to work, not to be treated
as an invalid. Stooping over the garment, she went on with her
sewing. Mrs. Wykoff looked at her very earnestly, and saw that her
lips were growing colorless; that she moved them in a nervous way,
and swallowed every now and then.

"Come, child," she said, in a firm tone, as she took Miss Carson by
the arm. "Put aside your work, and lie down on that sofa. You are
sick."

She did not resist; but only said---

"Not sick, ma'am--only a little faint."