the bedside, and, looking at her mistress, burst into tears.

"Good God! What is it?" said Mrs. Marston, shocked and even terrified,
while new alarms displaced her old ones. "Is Miss Rhoda--can it be--is
she--is my darling well?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," answered the maid, "very well, ma'am; she is up, and
out walking and knows nothing of all this."

"All what?" urged Mrs. Marston. "Tell me, tell me, Willett, what has
happened. What is it? Speak, child; say what it is?"

"Oh, ma'am! Oh my poor dear mistress!" continued the girl, and stopped,
almost stifled with sobs.

"Willett, you must speak; you must say what is the matter. I implore of
you--desire you!" urged the distracted lady. Still the girl, having made
one or two ineffectual efforts to speak, continued to sob.

"Willett, you will drive me mad. For mercy's sake, for God's sake,
speak--tell me what it is!" cried the unhappy lady.

"Oh, ma'am, it is--it is about the master," sobbed the girl.

"Why he can't--he has not--oh, merciful God! He has not hurt himself,"
she almost screamed.

"No, ma'am, no; not himself; no, no, but--" and again she hesitated.

"But what? Speak out, Willett; dear Willett have mercy on me, and speak