smile, but her lip quivered, and she turned her face to the wall.

The philosophy of Mr. Ludolph and his daughter was evidently adapted
to fair weather and smooth sailing. Sickness, disease, and the possible
results, were things that both dreaded more than they ever confessed
to each other. It was most natural that they should, for only in health
or life could they enjoy or hope for anything. By their own belief
their horizon was narrowed down to time and earth, and they could look
for nothing beyond. In Mr. Ludolph's imperious, resolute nature,
sickness always awakened anger as well as anxiety. It seemed like an
enemy threatening his dearest hopes and most cherished ambition,
therefore the heavy frown upon his brow as he pushed away the scarcely
tasted breakfast.

To Christine the thought of death was simply horrible, and with the
whole strength of her will she ever sought to banish it. To her it
meant corruption, dust, nothingness. With a few drawbacks she had
enjoyed life abundantly, and she clung to it with the tenacity of one
who believed it was all. With the exception of some slight passing
indisposition, both she and her father had been seldom ill; and for
a number of years now they had voyaged on over smooth, sunny seas of
prosperity.

Christine's sudden prostration on the morning following the
entertainment was a painful surprise to both.

"I will have Dr. Arten call at once," he said, at parting, "and will
come up from the store early in the day to see you;" and Christine was
left alone with her French maid.