Gabriella dropped her work and ran to the outside kitchen for Marthy,
the coloured drudge, "you will feel so much better, Jane, after you have
had his advice."

Then at the sight of Jane's stricken face, which had turned blue as if
from a sudden chill, she hurriedly opened the drawer of her sewing
machine, and taking out a bottle of camphor she kept there, began
tremulously rubbing her daughter's forehead. As she did so, she
remembered, with the startling irrelevance of the intellectually
untrained, the way Jane had looked in her veil and orange blossoms on
the day of her wedding.

"I wonder what on earth we have done to deserve our troubles?" she found
herself thinking while she put the stopper back into the bottle and
returned to her sewing.

"Marthy has gone, mother," said Gabriella, with her cheerful air as she
came back into the room, "and I shut the children in the laundry with
Dolly who is doing the washing."

"I hope they won't make themselves sick with preserves," remarked Jane,
with the first dart of energy she had shown. "Perhaps I'd better go and
see. If Fanny eats too much we'll be up all night with her."

"I told Dolly not to let them stuff," answered Gabriella, as she sat
down by the window and threaded her needle. She was a tall, dark girl,
slender and straight as a young poplar, with a face that was frank and
pleasant rather than pretty, and sparkling brown eyes which turned
golden and grew bright as swords when she was angry. Seen by the strong
light of the window, her face showed sallow in tone, with a certain