But Miss Conyers raised her hand with a silencing gesture, and arose to go down below. She trembled so much as she moved, that Erminie started forward to attend her. But with a repelling motion the pallid girl stopped her friend, and hurried alone on her way. All the morning the _Thetis_ steamed down the river. At the dinner hour Erminie was very glad of the excuse to go down into the stateroom she occupied in common with Britomarte, to take off her bonnet and mantle, and brush her hair, to go to the public table. She opened the door timidly. Miss Conyers was lying on the upper berth, with the curtains drawn down before her. “Britomarte, dear Britomarte, how are you? Can I do anything for you?” murmured Erminie, stealing to the berth and cautiously lifting a corner of the curtain. “No! don’t speak to me! leave me!” was all that Miss Conyers replied, and in a voice so hoarse as to be nearly inaudible. Pale with pity and with awe, Erminie dropped the curtain, and sank into the one chair their little den boasted. She sat there quite still, and forgetting to prepare for dinner until the bell clanged out its invitation to the table and aroused her from her trance of trouble. Then she hastily arose, threw off her bonnet, shook back her auburn ringlets, and hurried out to join her father and his friends, who were on their way to the dining-room. Much concern was expressed by them that Miss Conyers was not able to come to dinner. Once again in the course of that afternoon Erminie went to the stateroom to implore Britomarte to take some refreshment. Then Miss Conyers suddenly drew the curtain back, and turned upon the intruder a face so pale and ghastly in its grief and horror that Erminie shrank back appalled. “Don’t you see that it takes the whole power of my will to hold body and soul together until I get to New York?” she demanded, in a voice husky with suffering. “To New York!” repeated the panic-stricken girl. “Yes—I can do no more. I cannot eat, or drink, or talk—much. I can only manage to live until I get there. Leave me.” “Oh! Heaven of heavens, what has happened to you, Britomarte!” exclaimed Erminie, as she turned, unwillingly, to leave the stateroom. Miss Conyers did not divulge what had upset her, but pleaded headaches for absenting herself from the table. Erminie was unable to comfort her, nor was she taken into the confidence of the sullen and solitary mourner. In due time the _Thetis_ landed at her pier at Washington. And the great bustle of arrival ensued. “My dear Miss Conyers,” said Dr. Rosenthal, “I understand from my daughter that you have positively declined making us a visit; but now, at the last moment, let me prevail with you to make us all happy by consenting to go home with us at least for a day and night, if no longer, to rest before you go farther.”