Marion Berkley: A Story for Girls

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XVII.

  MARION'S MIDNIGHT WALK.

  It was a clear, cold day, in the latter part of February; the ground hadbeen covered with snow ever since Christmas week, and seemed likely tobe so for some time yet; even quite a heavy rain had failed to melt awayKing Winter's snowy mantle, for being followed by a freezing night ithad only served to crust everything with a thin coating of ice, and setupon the old fellow's head a crown, which glittered and sparkled in thesunlight rivalling in beauty that of many a lesser monarch.

  A sleigh was standing at the gate of the school, and Martin, theIrishman who sawed the wood, built the fires, and did all the little oddjobs generally of the establishment, stood with the reins in his hands;evidently very much pleased with his new position as coachman.

  Miss Stiefbach was going away, fifteen miles into the country, to see afriend who was very ill, and had sent her a very pressing letter, askingher to come to her as soon as possible; and the most feasible way forher to get there and back seemed to be, to hire a horse and sleigh inthe village, take Martin as driver, and return the next day.

  Nothing but the very urgent request of a sick friend would have calledMiss Stiefbach away from school just at this time; for the cook was sickabed with a terribly sore throat; the laundress could hardly speak, onaccount of a bad cold, and Bridget, the housemaid, was almost worn outwith doing a part of everybody's work, for the last three days. ButMiss Christine begged her sister to go; she would get the older girls tohelp her with the extra work, and as it was only for one night, therecertainly seemed no danger but what they could get along without her; soat two o'clock Miss Stiefbach started. Marion, Julia, and Sarah offeredtheir services to wash the dinner-dishes, and with sleeves rolled up,and long aprons on, went into the business in earnest, laughing andchattering like magpies. While they were at work Rachel Drayton cameinto the room for a glass of water, and Sarah Brown, looking up,exclaimed:--

  "Why, Rachel, what in the world is the matter with you? You look like aghost!"

  "Only one of my headaches," said Rachel, making a feeble attempt tosmile. "I've had it all day."

  "But you are hoarse; you can hardly speak," said Julia.

  "Don't say anything about it; but my throat is terribly sore. Pleasedon't tell Miss Christine; there are enough sick in the house alreadywithout me."

  "But you ought to do something for it, indeed you ought," said Sarah. "Iwish I could tell you of something; don't you know of anything for asore throat, Marion?"

  "I always gargle mine with salt and water," answered Marionindifferently, without looking up from the buffet-drawer, where she wasarranging the silver.

  "Well, do try it, Rachel," said Julia; "it can't hurt you certainly;here's some salt. How much do you put in a tumbler of water, Marion?"

  "I really don't know," replied Marion, still busy with the silver; "Inever measured it."

  "Well, can't you give me any idea?" asked Julia, rather impatiently.

  "Don't trouble Miss Berkley," said Rachel, in a voice which she triedin vain to render steady, for, sick and suffering as she was, Marion'sindifference cut her to the heart. She turned away to leave the room,the blinding tears rushed to her eyes, her head swam, and she staggeredforward, as Sarah cried: "Quick, Julia! catch her; she's fainting!"

  Marion started up in time to see Rachel, with a deathly white face andclosed eyes, stretch out her hands helplessly before her, as Julia andSarah caught her in their arms, and saved her from falling.

  The sight of that white face struck Marion with horror; but still shedid not move from the spot where she had stood ever since Rachel enteredthe room; it seemed as if she _could_ not move, until Sarah exclaimed:--

  "Marion, hand me a glass of water, for Heaven's sake; she'll faintaway."

  "No, I shan't," said Rachel, in a feeble voice, trying to raise herhead; "it was only a sudden dizziness. I often have it when my headaches, only to-day it was worse than usual."

  "Lie still there," said Julia, as they led her to the sofa, "and keepperfectly quiet; I'll go call Miss Christine."

  "No! no!" cried Rachel, jumping up, but sinking back again as the suddenmovement sent her head whizzing round; "please don't; she has gone up togive cook her medicine, and indeed I shall be better soon."

  "I won't call her, if you'll promise to go to bed as soon as you areable to walk."

  "Well, I will," answered Rachel. "I can go in a few minutes; would youmind asking Florence to come here?"

  Sarah ran off to get Florence, and Julia sat down by Rachel, bathing herhead with cold water. Marion went on quietly putting away the dishes;only now and then glancing at the white face in such fearful contrastwith its surroundings of black hair and dress.

  Florence came in, and, as soon as Rachel was able, helped her up to herroom, where she laid down on the bed without undressing, hoping to feelwell enough to go down to tea; but that was out of the question; herhead grew worse instead of better, and at last Florence insisted uponcalling Miss Christine.

  When Miss Christine came up, she told Marion to take Rachel into MissStiefbach's room, and help her to undress at once, while she went to getsome hot water in which to bathe her feet. Very soon Rachel was in bed,and begged Miss Christine to "go away and not mind her, for she knew sheshould feel all right in the morning."

  But of this Miss Christine did not feel at all sure; the deadly pallorof Rachel's face had been succeeded by a bright red spot in each cheek,and the palms of her hands were burning hot. Leaving Florence to sitwith her friend, she went down to attend to her other duties. She wentinto the dining-room to set the tea-table; but Marion and Sarah werethere before her.

  "How is Rachel?" asked Sarah; "do you think she is going to be ill?"

  "I hope not; indeed I think not, for you know she often has thesedreadful headaches; still she has a bad sore throat, and seems feverish.I almost wish Miss Stiefbach had not gone."

  "It was too bad," said Sarah; "just now when everybody is sick! I don'tsee why that lady had to send for her!"

  "Well, my dear, she could not possibly know that it was not convenientfor us to have Miss Stiefbach away, and she wanted to see her aboutsomething very important; it could not be helped. I dare say everythingwill come out right in the end. I must go now and help Bridget, or shewill get discouraged. O Marion," she said, as she was about to leave theroom, "will you please sleep with Rose? She'll be afraid to sleep alone,and I have put Rachel into Miss Stiefbach's room, where I can be nearher if she should want anything in the night."

  "Oh, I don't want to," replied Marion, much to Miss Christine'ssurprise. "Rose kicks awfully. Ask Florence."

  "Will she be any less likely to kick Florence than you?" asked MissChristine, quietly.

  "No, I suppose not; but you know Florence won't mind, as long as it'sfor Rachel."

  "And you would, I am sorry to say."

  "I suppose it's no use for me to offer," said Sarah, "for that wouldleave Jennie all alone, and she's an awful coward."

  "No, I thank you," said Miss Christine, as she left the room; "I willask Florence."

  Marion said nothing; she went on setting the table and talking to Sarah,never in any way alluding to Rachel, and doing her best not to think ofher, or reproach herself for having treated her so unkindly; but nomatter what she did, she could not stifle the voice of conscience, andits whisperings were far from pleasant to hear.

  That night, as she went up to bed, her better nature prompted her tostep into Rachel's room, and ask her if she felt any better; but "No,"she said to herself, "she will think it's all hypocrisy, and I won't doit."

  She hurried and undressed herself as quickly as possible, so that shewas already in bed when Florence came in to get her night-clothes tocarry into Rose's room; but she did not speak or open her eyes. Florencemoved round as quietly as possible, getting her things together, andthen stepping to the bedside stooped down and kissed her friend; butMarion did not speak or move; so Florence, thinking she was asleep,turned out the gas, and left the room.
When she was gone Marion buriedher head in the pillow, and wept bitter, bitter tears.

  It was a long time before she went to sleep, and then her rest wasdisturbed by frightful dreams; she thought the house was on fire; thatshe was safe, but Rachel and Florence were in the attic, where no onecould reach them, and they must burn to death while she stood lookingon.

  She awoke with a start, to see a bright light in the entry; springingout of bed, she ran to the door just as Miss Christine, with a candle inher hand, and a wrapper over her night-dress was passing by.

  "O Miss Christine," she cried, in an excited whisper, "is the house onfire?"

  "No, indeed, dear, nothing of the sort; but Rachel is very ill, and I amgoing down to make her some lemonade. Won't you please put something on,and go in and sit with her? I cannot bear to leave her alone."

  Marion did not stop to answer; but running back into her room, threw ashawl over her shoulders, and hastily thrusting her feet into herslippers, hurried into Miss Stiefbach's room. There was only a dim lightin the chamber. Marion went up to the bed, and, leaning over, calledRachel by name; but she made no answer, only moaned feebly, and tossedher arms over her head, rolling her great black eyes from side to side.

  "Rachel," said Marion, thoroughly frightened, "don't you know me?"

  The voice seemed to rouse her, for she started up, and looked fixedly atMarion; then putting her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out somehorrible sight, she cried, in a hoarse voice, "Go away! go away! youhate me! you hate me! you're going to kill me!"

  Marion shuddered, for she knew Rachel must be delirious; she tried tosoothe her, but the sound of her voice only seemed to make her moreexcited. She seemed to have a vague idea who she was, and that she wasthere to do her harm. Once she sat up in bed, and, laying her hand onMarion's arm, said in the most grieved, beseeching tone, "What makes youhate me so? I never did you any harm."

  Marion, with tears in her eyes was about to speak, when suddenly thetender, supplicating expression left Rachel's face, and one of intensehorror and grief took its place, as she grasped Marion's arm tightlywith one hand, stretching out her other arm, and pointing into a darkcorner of the room, exclaiming, in a voice that made her companionshudder from head to foot: "See! see! you see they're taking it off!they're taking it off! don't you see? It's my father! O father! father!"she wailed, stretching out her arm as if entreating some person seenonly by herself, "don't leave me; for there'll be no one to love methen. I'm all alone! all alone! all alone!"

  Marion's tears fell thick and fast, as the exhausted girl threw herselfback on the pillow and sobbed aloud; every unkind thought, every coldglance, and every act of neglect which she had shown the poor, desolatecreature beside her pictured itself before her. Remorse was doing itswork, and her greatest fear was that Rachel would die while yetdelirious, and before she had an opportunity to ask her forgiveness, andatone by her kindness in the future for her neglect of the past. Butalthough these thoughts passed rapidly through her mind, they were butas the undercurrent of her immediate anxiety; it seemed as if MissChristine would never come, and Rachel still moaned and sobbed in aheart-rending manner.

  When Miss Christine did at last enter the room, bringing the lemonade,Marion hurried towards her, and whispered:--

  "Oh, do you think she's going to die? Can't we do anything for her?Can't _I_ do anything?"

  "I think she seems very ill indeed," replied Miss Christine, going tothe bedside, and laying a cloth wet in cold water on Rachel's head; thencoming back to Marion, "Will you stay with her while I go for thedoctor?"

  "Can't you send Bridget?"

  "No, the poor thing is half worn out with all she has had to do thisweek. I would not call her up for anything. If you will stay withRachel, and keep changing the cloth on her head, I will go, for I darenot wait until morning."

  "O Miss Christine!" exclaimed Marion, in a trembling whisper, "I can'tstay; indeed I can't, and hear her rave about her father; it isdreadful! it goes right through me; you stay and _I'll_ go."

  "Marion, do you know it is almost midnight? You will be afraid."

  "You were not."

  "No, because I'm not nervous."

  "Well, I won't be nervous; if there's no danger for you, there is nonefor me. I shall go."

  "Any _real_ danger I do not think there is, but of imaginary danger aplenty, and if you should get seriously frightened I never shouldforgive myself."

  "But I won't be frightened or nervous," said Marion, resolutely. "Here,feel my hand; when Rachel was raving a moment ago, I _could_ not keep itstill; now it is as steady as yours. O Miss Christine, if you only_knew_, you would let me go."

  "My dear child," said Miss Christine, laying her hand tenderly onMarion's cheek, "I _do_ know, and if you really are courageous enough,you may go. It is no use for me to wake up any of the girls; there isnot one of them that would dare go with you, I know."

  "I'll go alone, Miss Christine, and I know nothing will happen to me."

  Marion hurried back into her room, and dressed herself as quickly aspossible, putting on her thickest cloak, furs, and a warm hood. MissChristine stepped into the entry, and kissed her good-by, saying:--

  "Don't be afraid, darling; you know nothing ever happens round here, andif you bring the doctor back with you it may be the means of savingRachel's life."

  Marion made no reply, except by a glance full of meaning, and wentquietly downstairs, looking back as she reached the door, and nodding atMiss Christine, who stood at the head of the stairs, holding a candle;then she opened the door, and went out into the night alone.

  There were two roads which led to the village. By the road proper, onwhich several residences bordered, the distance was about two miles; butthere was a shorter one, called the bridge road, which led throughseveral open fields, and crossed the B---- River, which was rarelyfrequented except by the school-girls and farmers on their way to andfrom market. This road kept a perfectly straight course to the village,and although far more lonely than the other, on that account Marionchose it.

  It was a perfect night; clear and cold, very cold; but of that Marionthought nothing; she had braved New England winters all her life, andwas almost as hardy as a backwoodsman. The moon was full, and shone downon as lovely a scene as one would wish to see; the trees with theirdelicate coating of ice glistened and gleamed in its beams, as thoughcovered with myriads of jewels, and threw their fantastic shadows on theshining snow.

  Marion hurried along the road, not giving herself time for fear, untilshe had left the school-house some distance behind her. At any othertime she would have been wildly enthusiastic over the beauty of thenight; but looking at the moon from a comfortable sleigh, snugly tuckedup in buffalo robes, the stillness of the night broken by the jollyjingling of bells and the laughter of merry friends, is a very differentthing from contemplating it on a lonely country road, no house in sight,with your loudly beating heart for your only companion, and the hournear midnight.

  At least Marion found it so; and, brave as she was, she could not keepher heart from thumping against her side, or her hands from tremblingnervously, as she clasped them inside of her muff. Every bush she passedtook some fantastic shape, and as she strained her eyes before her tomake it assume some rational form, it seemed to move stealthily as ifabout to spring upon her; the trees appeared to be stretching out theirnaked branches, like long arms with ghostly fingers to clutch her as shepassed; now and then a twig, too heavily freighted with ice, would snapoff and come crackling to the ground, the sudden noise making her heartstand still for an instant, only to start on again, beating moreviolently than before.

  But still she pressed on, and soon the river, which was on the veryverge of the town, gleamed before her, and she quickened her pace,thankful that so much of her journey was past; but who can describe thehorror and dismay she felt, when, upon reaching its banks, she found thebridge was gone! The little river wound in and out for several miles,doubling and redoubling itself, as it flowed among the woods andfiel
ds, and was as quiet and placid a little river as ever could be,with the exception of a number of rods above and below the bridge; hereits bed was filled with a quantity of rocks and stones, and the water,rushing over and between them, formed innumerable cascades andwhirlpools, never freezing in the coldest weather. For some time thebridge had been considered rather unsafe, and that afternoon the workmenhad taken away the floor, leaving the stays and beams still standing.

  Marion looked at the skeleton frame in utter despair. There lay the towndirectly before her, the doctor's house being one of the first, and theonly means of getting to it were gone. To go up the bank of the riverand cross on the ice seemed out of the question, for there it wasbordered by thick woods, in which she could easily lose her way, and togo back, and round by the regular road would take at least an hourlonger. Meanwhile Rachel might be dying, for aught she knew. She wentnearer the bridge, and inspected it more closely; the railings wereperfectly secure, and built upon two broad, solid beams which spannedthe river; the idea came into her head to cross the river on one of thebeams, holding firmly to the railing with both hands. She tied her muffby the tassels round her neck, tightened the strings of her hood, andstepped cautiously on to the beam. It seemed a fearful undertaking; herheart almost misgave her; but the delirious cries of Rachel rang in herears and spurred her on. Step by step, slowly and carefully, as a littlechild feels its way along a fence, she crept along; gaining confidencewith every movement, until she reached the middle of the bridge; thenshe happened to look down. The black water seethed and foamed beneathher, touched into brightness here and there by the moonlight. For aninstant her brain whirled, and she almost lost her balance. She shut hereyes, and with a tremendous effort of her will was herself again.Looking up to heaven, and inwardly beseeching God to sustain her, shekept on, slowly and carefully as ever, moving first one foot then theother, with both hands still firmly clasping the railing, until at lastthe opposite side was reached, and she stepped upon the snow.

  Her first impulse was to throw herself upon the nearest rock, for nowthat she had fairly crossed in safety, the extreme tension to which hernerves had been subjected relaxed itself, and she was more inclined tobe alarmed at the loneliness of her situation than before. When on thebridge all her thoughts had been concentrated upon getting over safely;by force of will she had conquered her nervous fear, calling up allsorts of imaginary dangers, which disappeared before the actual dangerwhich assailed her, and which, by presence of mind, she had been able toovercome. But she would not indulge any of her wild fancies, though theycrowded themselves upon her against her will. She felt herself growingweaker and weaker as she approached the end of her walk. The shadowsmade by the trees and houses seemed even more gloomy than those of theopen road. Once a dog, chained in the neighborhood, broke the stillnessof the night by a long, mournful howl, which echoed through the air,making Marion shudder as she heard it. At last the house was reached;running up the steps she gave the bell a tremendous pull. She could hearit ring through the house; then all was still again. She waited, whatseemed to her, standing there alone on the door-step, which did not evenoffer the friendly shadow of a porch, a very long time; then rang again,even more violently than before. In a moment she heard a window openedabove, and looking up beheld a night-capped head, and the doctor's voiceasked, "What's the row down there? Seems to me you're in a terriblehurry."

  "Some one's sick, do let me in quick, Dr. Brown!--it's Marion Berkley."

  "Marion Berkley!" exclaimed the doctor, in astonishment. "Here, catchthis key; it's got a long string tied to it, and let yourself in; I'llbe down directly."

  Marion caught the key, and in a moment unlocked the door; once inside,her strength forsook her, and she sank on the door-mat in totaldarkness, perfectly thankful to be in a place of safety. Pretty soon sheheard a movement above, a light gleamed down the stairway, and she heardthe doctor's voice calling to some one in the back of the house to havethe horse harnessed, and brought round to the door immediately.

  In a few moments the doctor himself appeared, bearing a light in hishand, and exclaiming, as he made his way downstairs, "How, in the nameof sense, did you come here at this time of night?"

  "I walked by the road," answered Marion, her teeth chattering withnervousness.

  "By the town road," said the doctor; "and who came with you?"

  "I came alone, by the bridge road."

  "By the bridge road!" exclaimed the doctor, stopping short, as he wasputting on his great-coat. "Why, the bridge is down!"

  "I didn't know until I got to it," said Marion, wishing he would hurry,and not stop to question her; "then it was too late to go back; so Icrossed on the beam."

  "The devil you did!" exclaimed the doctor; then catching up the candlein one hand, he led her by the other into the dining-room. "There! justsit down there! Your hands are shaking like old Deacon Grump's, and yourteeth chatter as if they were going to drop out. Now drink every drop ofthat, while I go and wrap up."

  While he had been talking, the doctor had gone to the sideboard, andpoured out a generous glass of sherry, which he handed to Marion; shetook it and drank it all. It sent a genial warmth through her tremblingframe, and by the time the doctor called out to her that he was ready,she felt quite like herself.

  After they were seated in the sleigh, and well tucked up with robes, thedoctor said, "Well now, young lady, if it's agreeable to you, I shouldlike to know who is sick enough to send you chasing over country roads,across broken bridges, to rout up an old fellow like me."

  "Rachel Drayton, sir," said Marion; "she's had a bad cold for some time;this afternoon she went to bed with a terrible headache and sore throat,and now she's in a high fever, and out of her head."

  "Rachel Drayton; that's the one with the great black eyes, isn't it?"said the doctor. "H'm! I remember her; very nervous sort of girl, isn'tshe?"

  "No, I shouldn't think she was," replied Marion; "she has always seemedvery calm and quiet; you know she's an orphan."

  "Yes, I remember her. I saw her the last time I was there. She's justthe one to be delirious with even a very slight illness."

  "Then you don't think she's going to be very sick?" asked Marion,eagerly.

  "My dear child," said the doctor, looking down at Marion, "how can Itell until I've seen her? But good heavens! what's the matter withyou?"

  Marion had burst into a fit of laughter, and the doctor sat and lookedat her in perfect amazement.

  "What _is_ the matter, child? What are you laughing at?"

  But Marion laughed and laughed; throwing her head down into her muff asif to control herself, and then looking up at the doctor, and laughingharder than before.

  "What's the matter with you, child?" cried the poor man, really growinguneasy. "Have you gone crazy, or was the wine too much for you?"

  "It isn't that, doctor, but you--you--"

  "What in the devil's the matter with me, I should like to know!"

  "You've--you've--got on your nightcap!" cried Marion, as well as shecould speak.

  The doctor dropped the reins, and put both hands to his head. Sureenough, in the hurry of dressing he had forgotten to take off theimmense bandanna handkerchief he wore tied round his head every night;and over it he had put his cloth cap, which, fitting tight to his head,left the ends of the handkerchief sticking out each side like greathorns, giving an indescribably funny appearance to the doctor's jollyround face.

  Now Dr. Brown, although he always considered himself privileged to sayand do anything he had a mind to, was excessively particular about histoilet, and to take a moonlight drive with a young lady, with hisnightcap on, was quite contrary to his usual habits. However, it wasaltogether too ridiculous a situation to do anything but laugh, and thedoctor could enjoy a joke even against himself.

  "Laugh on, Marion; I don't blame you a bit," he said. "I must cut apretty figure."

  "Just look at your shadow; then you'll see for yourself."

  The doctor looked over his shoulder. "The devil!" he ex
claimed. "Why, Ilook just like him, don't I? Depend upon it, that's what it is; I'vecalled upon his Satanic majesty so often, that now he's after me in goodearnest. Well, old fellow, I'll deprive you of your horns at any rate;"and the doctor brought the ends of the handkerchief down, and tuckedthem under his chin.

  "Marion, don't let me go into the house with this thing on. I won't takeit off now, as long as you've seen it, for it's very comfortable thiscold night; but I shouldn't like to shock Miss Stiefbach's dignity byappearing before her in such a rig."

  "Miss Stiefbach is away," replied Marion.

  "You don't say so! And the cook sick abed too. Well, Miss Christine hasher hands full."

  "And both the other servants are half sick, and Martin went with MissStiefbach."

  "And that accounts for your coming out on such a wild-goose chase."

  "I was chasing after you, sir," answered Marion, mischievously.

  "No insinuations, miss! There's the school-house; get up, Beauty; you'regrowing lazy."

  Marion found the door unlocked, and entering the house quietly, onlystopping long enough for the doctor to divest himself of his fantastichead-dress, she led the way upstairs.

  "How is she?" anxiously asked Marion of Miss Christine, who met them atthe chamber-door.

  "She is more quiet, but I am _very_ glad the doctor is here."

  The doctor took off his gloves, rubbed his hands together two or threetimes, then went to the bedside.

  Rachel looked at him; but seemed to pay no attention to him or any oneelse. He felt of her head and pulse, then asked Miss Christine if shehad ever seen her in a fever before.

  "No," replied Miss Christine; "but she often has severe headaches; shehas a sore throat now."

  "Bring the light nearer," said the doctor. "Now, my dear young lady,will you please open your mouth?"

  But Rachel only moved her head, and showed signs of becoming restless.The doctor stooped down, opened her mouth himself, and tried to lookdown her throat; but she resisted him, and commenced sobbing andmuttering incoherently. The doctor soothed her as he would a littlechild, and she became quiet.

  "Has she complained of pain in her back and limbs?"

  "None at all," replied Miss Christine. "I asked her particularly."

  "Give her a teaspoonful of this mixture every half hour until the feverabates," handing a glass to Miss Christine, "I will come again to-morrowmorning."

  "O doctor," whispered Marion, who had silently watched every movement,"is it scarlet fever?"

  Miss Christine said nothing, but her eyes asked the same question.

  "Of course I cannot tell yet," said the doctor, rising and drawing onhis gloves, "but I hardly think it is. I noticed her the other day, whenI was here, and remember thinking at the time that even a slight illnesswould seem more severe with her than with most persons. She looks like aperson who had suffered and endured without complaint. I don't like tosee that sort of look on a young face. When she is ill this unnaturalself-control gives way, and she's out of her head, when any otherperson would be all straight. However, I advise you to keep all thescholars away from her for the present. As for this young lady," takinghold of Marion's hand, "the best place for such adventurous youngfemales, who go about crossing broken bridges at midnight, is bed."

  "What do you mean by broken bridges, doctor?" asked Miss Christine.

  "Only that the bridge was down, and she crossed on the beams, that'sall. My prescription for her is a glass of hot lemonade with a drop ofsomething in it to keep it; you understand, Miss Christine;" and thedoctor nodded his head significantly as he left the room.

  "My dear Marion," whispered Miss Christine, as she threw her arms aroundher, "you are the bravest girl I ever knew!"

  "Nonsense!" replied Marion, "and please don't say anything about itdownstairs in the morning; I won't be talked about."

  "I understand," said Miss Christine; "but now you must go straight tobed. I'll heat the lemonade over the gas, and bring it in to you."

  "Miss Christine, you go and lie down yourself, and I'll sit up; indeed,I couldn't sleep if I went to bed."

  "Yes, you will, and don't talk of sitting up, for I won't allow it; goright away."

  Marion obeyed; in a very few moments she was in bed, had drank thelemonade, and, before she knew she was even drowsy, was fast asleep.