"Well, Gussie, and how did you get on with the Printer-devil" (this
was her impolite name for the great Meeson); "will he give you any
more money?"

"No, dear; we quarrelled, that was all, and I came away."

"Then I suppose that we can't go abroad?"

Augusta was too moved to answer; she only shook her head. The child
buried her face in the pillow and gave a sob or two. Presently she was
quiet, and lifted it again. "Gussie, love," she said, "don't be angry,
but I want to speak to you. Listen, my sweet Gussie, my angel. Oh,
Gussie, you don't know how I love you! It is all no good, it is useless
struggling against it, I must die sooner or later; though I am only
twelve, and you think me such a child, I am old enough to understand
that. I think," she added, after pausing to cough, "that pain makes one
old: I feel as though I were fifty. Well, so you see I may as well give
up fighting against it and die at once. I am only a burden and anxiety to
you--I may as well die at once and go to sleep."

"Don't, Jeannie! don't!" said her sister, in a sort of cry; "you are
killing me!"

Jeannie laid her hot hand upon Augusta's arm, "Try and listen to me,
dear," she said, "even if it hurts, because I do so want to say
something. Why should you be so frightened about me? Can any place that I
can go be worse than this place? Can I suffer more pain anywhere, or be
more hurt when I see you crying? Think how wretched it has all been.
There has only been one beautiful thing in our lives for years and years,