She turned, and by one of the little tables stood a tall woman, with a slight swaying figure like Una's, a dress incongruously splendid in that squalid place, and a face--the face of one of themselves--not so much older as to have lost all its kindred beauty, but with pale cheeks and painted eyes, and a look at once familiar, as only the nearest of kin can be, and strange, as of one belonging to another kind of world. "Blanche!" exclaimed Miss Haredale, "Blanche! can it be you?" "Oh yes, Aunt Annabel. It is. I am staying here for a little variety, and I saw papa, and Charles--both of them--in the rooms. And I thought I'd better come and look after my brother, when I heard he was ill." She laughed a little, as she uttered these words in something of Tory's tone when she did the good little girl, an effect heightened by the use of the old-fashioned appellation by which, long, long ago, Lord Haredale's elder children had been wont to call him; but her eyes were on her sister. "Is that Amethyst?" she said. "Ah, you don't remember me." "Yes, Blanche, I do," said Amethyst; but she had turned deadly pale, for Blanche had been little more than an abstraction to her mind. "But where is your father?" said Miss Haredale. "And Charles, is he any better?" "Oh no--nor can be. He's got D.T. and all sorts of other horrors. Just drank himself to death, poor fellow. I can pay the nurse and the doctor: but I can't bear the sight of him. What _was_ the good of your coming?" "Is the nurse trained, my dear? Indeed, I ought to go up," said Miss Haredale. "Well, I can show you. Perhaps he is asleep. Trained--oh dear no; she's a horrid old woman." Lady Clyste led the way up-stairs, and, as they followed her, outcries, sounds that made Amethyst's heart die within her, led them on their way. "Oh, he's quite off his head," said Blanche, as she opened the bedroom door. There, on the narrow bed, lay Charles; and Amethyst saw what months of neglect and evil living, and frightful ills and sufferings, had made of a man already marred and ruined beyond repair. Miss Haredale recoiled with a sob, and Amethyst gathered up her courage and came forward. "Charles," she said. The sick man started up and swore at her for a ghost. Then his eyes cleared a little, and he stuttered out-- "Amethyst! Oh, damn it all. Go away; you mustn't stop here, here with _me_. And there's Blanche; you mustn't stay with Blanche. Take her away, Aunt Anna. Take her away this moment." Blanche gave a sort of laugh, and then began to sob hysterically. "Hush, Charles," said Amethyst, "I came to see you. You won't hurt me,--and Blanche--is very kind. Lie still.--Una sent you her love." Her lips and hands trembled a little, but her eyes were full of yearning pity. Never, in her loveliest moments, had she looked as she did now. She stood by Charles, and laid her hand on his, then glanced from him to his other sister, of whom he had spoken thus.