“My dear, I must not sadden your enjoyment of your pleasant visit to the Engadine, by writing at any length of the sorrow that I am suffering. You know how I love my aunt, and how gratefully I have always felt her motherly goodness to me. The doctor does not conceal the truth. At her age, there is no hope: my father’s last-left relation, my one dearest friend, is dying. “No! I must not forget that I have another friend--I must find some comfort in thinking of _you_. “I do so long in my solitude for a letter from my dear Cecilia. Nobody comes to see me, when I most want sympathy; I am a stranger in this vast city. The members of my mother’s family are settled in Australia: they have not even written to me, in all the long years that have passed since her death. You remember how cheerfully I used to look forward to my new life, on leaving school? Good-by, my darling. While I can see your sweet face, in my thoughts, I don’t despair--dark as it looks now--of the future that is before me.” Emily had closed and addressed her letter, and was just rising from her chair, when she heard the voice of the new nurse at the door. CHAPTER XV. EMILY. “May I say a word?” Mrs. Mosey inquired. She entered the room--pale and trembling. Seeing that ominous change, Emily dropped back into her chair. “Dead?” she said faintly. Mrs. Mosey looked at her in vacant surprise. “I wish to say, miss, that your aunt has frightened me.” Even that vague allusion was enough for Emily. “You need say no more,” she replied. “I know but too well how my aunt’s mind is affected by the fever.” Confused and frightened as she was, Mrs. Mosey still found relief in her customary flow of words. “Many and many a person have I nursed in fever,” she announced. “Many and many a person have I heard say strange things. Never yet, miss, in all my experience--!” “Don’t tell me of it!” Emily interposed.