"Madam," said she, "did you wish for anything?"

"Yes, dear," was the soft answer, which, however, in this case failed
to turn, away wrath. "Yes, dear, your mother said you knew where there
were some fine bits of linen."

"And could not Carrie come for them?" asked Mag.

"Yes, dear, but she looks so delicate that I do not like to send her
up these long stairs oftener than is necessary. Haven't you noticed
how pale she is getting of late? I shouldn't be at all surprised--"
but before the sentence was finished the linen was found, and the door
closed upon Mrs. Carter.

A new idea had been awakened in Margaret's mind, and for the first
time she thought how much her sister really had changed. Carrie, who
was four years younger than Margaret, had ever been delicate, and her
parents had always feared that not long could they keep her; but
though each winter her cough had returned with increased severity,
though the veins on her white brow grew more distinct, and her large,
blue eyes glowed with unwonted luster, still Margaret had never before
dreamed of danger, never thought that soon her sister's voice would be
missed, and that Carrie would be gone. But she thought of it now, and
laying her head upon the table wept for a time in silence.

At length, drying her tears, she folded her letter and took it to the
post-office. As she was returning home she was met by a servant, who
exclaimed, "Run, Miss Margaret, run; your mother is dying, and Mrs.
Carter sent me for you!"