"You are startled; and you must have a good night's sleep. Is the
bromide in David's room? I'll get it."

When he came back with the medicine, she took it hurriedly--anything
to get rid of him! "Is there anything I can do?" he said. "Do you want
to send any reply? I can take it down to-night and send it the first
thing in the morning."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what am I thinking of! Of course, a message--I
must send a message! Will you take it? Oh, I am afraid I trouble you
very much, but you are so kind. I'll go and write it."

She tried to rise, but she was still so shaken that involuntarily he
put out his hand to help her. At the old mahogany desk between the
windows she hunted about for paper and pencil, and when she found
them, wrote for a moment, rapidly; then paused, and tore the paper up.
William glanced at her side-wise; she was pressing the pencil against
her lips, her left hand opening and closing with agitation. The doctor
shook his head. "That won't do," he said to himself. Again she wrote;
again hesitated; again tore the sheet of paper across. It seemed to
him that he waited a long time. But when she brought him the message,
it was very short; only: _"F. is dead,"_ and her initials. It was
addressed to Mr. Lloyd Pryor.

"I am very much obliged to you," she said; her color was coming back,
and she had evidently got control of herself. But she hardly noticed
William's farewell, and he had not reached the front door before she
began to pace up and down the parlor.

"Well!" said Martha, "was it a brother, or sister? How did she take