SHARE AND SHARE ALIKE. The next morning Marcia commenced her duties. She had said to herself the night before that the prison doors were closing on her. They were firmly closed the next morning. She saw her stepmother for a few minutes on the night of her arrival. She was a tall, very lanky, tired-looking woman, who was the victim of nerves; her irritability was well-known and dreaded. Marcia had lived with it for some years of her life; the younger girls had been brought up with it, and now, when they were pretty and young, and "coming out," as Molly expressed it, they were tired of it. The invalid was not dangerously ill. If she would only exert herself she might even get quite well; but Mrs Aldworth had not the least intention of exerting herself. She liked to make the worst of her ailments. As a matter of fact she lived on them; she pondered them over in the dead of night, and in the morning she told whoever her faithful companion might happen to be, what had occurred. She spoke of fresh symptoms during the day, and often sobbed and bemoaned herself, and she rated her companion and made her life a terrible burden. Marcia knew all about it. She thought of it as she lay in bed that first night, and firmly determined to make a strong line. "I have given up Frankfort," she thought, "and the pleasures of my school life, and the chance of earning money, and some distinction--for they own that I am the best English mistress they have ever had; I have given up the friendship of those dear girls, and the opera, and the music, and all that I most delight in; but I will not--I vow it--give up all my liberty. It is right, of course, that I, who am not so young as my sisters, should have some of the burden; but they must share it." She went downstairs, therefore, to breakfast, resolved to speak her mind. The girls were there, looking very pretty and merry. Nesta said eagerly: "Molly, you will be able to go to the Chattertons to-day." "I mean to," said Molly. "Ethel, you mustn't be jealous, but I am coming with you." "And she's got a charming new hat," said Nesta. "I know," said Ethel. "She trimmed it yesterday with some of the ribbon left over from my new ball dress." "She'll wear it," said Nesta, "and she'll look as pretty as you, Ethel." Ethel shook herself somewhat disdainfully. "And I'm going to play tennis with Matilda Fortescue," continued Nesta. "Oh, hurrah! hurrah! Isn't it nice to have a day of freedom?" "What do you mean, girls?" said Marcia at that moment. Her voice had a new quality in it; the girls were arrested in their idle talk. "What do we mean?" said Nesta, who was far and away the most pert of the sisters. "Why, this is what we mean: Dear old Marcia, the old darling, has come back, and we're free." "I wish to tell you," said Marcia, "that this is a mistake." "What do you mean?" said Molly. "Do you mean to insinuate that you are not our sister, our dear old sister?"