"don't be too kind or I'll break down utterly, and I don't want to
before mother. She don't know--she never will believe she can die,
and I don't want her to know. I'll have time enough to cry after
she's gone."

"I feel I must stay vith yer to-night," warm-hearted Mrs. Wheaton
began; "and if Miss Jocelyn vill look hafter my children I vill."

"No, Mrs. Wheaton," said Mildred decidedly, "I'm going to stay.
You ought to be with your children. Don't tell Belle, papa, and
take the poor child home. Clara and I can now do all that can be
done. Please don't say anything against it, for I know I'm right,"
she pleaded earnestly in answer to her father's look of remonstrance.

"Very well, then, I'll return and stay with you," he said.

The physician's eyes dwelt on Mildred's pale face in strong admiration
as he gave her a few directions. "That's right, Millie, make her
well for mercy's sake or I'll have the horrors," Belle whispered
as she kissed her sister good-night.

Soon Clara and Mildred were alone watching the gasping, fitful
sleeper. "After all that's been done--for me--to-night I'll--surely
get well," she had murmured, and she closed her eyes without an
apparent doubt of recovery.

Mildred furtively expiorea the now dimly lighted room. "Merciful
Heaven," she sighed, "shall we ever come to this?" Clara's eyes
were fixed on her mother's face with pathetic intensity, watching
the glimmer of that mysterious thing we call life, that flickered