"You must turn that religious woman out of your house," said the
physician, "or I cannot save your daughters." And Dora was severely
reprimanded by her mistress for the extreme discourtesy of offering to
read to the young ladies from the Bible.

"What can she think?" asked Helen, with concern. "The doctor says that
I shall be well in a few days; but Dora looks serious, and offers to
read to me from the Bible. You will not have me deceived, mamma?"

"No, love," said her mother, trying to persuade her own heart that
there was no cause for alarm. "Dora is religious, and such people
always have fits of being disobliging."

"She is extremely kind to me in everything else," said the poor girl;
"it is only in this thing that she makes me unhappy."

"She shall make you unhappy no more; I will forbid her to approach your
room." And so she did. Dora was accused of impertinence, and felt most
keenly that truth and the world's etiquette were at war.

Days passed on, and there were serious faces, more than one, in that
house where it was impertinent to speak of death and eternity. It is
true, that for a time gay visitors were admitted to Helen's chamber,
and there was hollow laughter there, as they talked of balls, parties,
and new fashions, and told the poor girl that she was looking better
every day: but Dora saw them whisper, and shake their heads to each
other as they passed out; and she saw that every day the mother grew
more fearful as it regarded the daughter, and kinder toward herself.