“Oh, my God!” murmured Joan, putting her hands to her face, “oh, my God! my God!” CHAPTER XXVI. A LOVE LETTER. Joan never knew how she got through the rest of that afternoon. She did not faint, but she was so utterly overcome and bewildered that she could do nothing right. Three times Mr. Waters spoke to her, with ever-increasing harshness, and on the third occasion she answered him saying,— “I am very sorry, but it is not my fault. I feel ill: let me go home.” “Yes, you’d better go, miss,” he said, “and so far as I am concerned you can stop there. I shall report your conduct to the proprietors, so you need not trouble to return unless you hear from me again.” Joan went without a word; and so ended her life as a show-woman, for never again did she set eyes upon the establishment of Messrs. Black and Parker, or upon their estimable manager, Mr. Waters. The raw damp of the October evening revived her somewhat, but before she reached Kent Street she knew that she had not exaggerated when she said that she was ill—very ill, in body as well as in mind. The long anxiety and mental torture, culminating in the scene of that afternoon, together with confinement in the close atmosphere of the shop and other exciting causes, had broken down her health at last. Sharp pains shot through her head and limbs; she felt fever burning in her blood, and at times she trembled so violently that she could scarcely keep her feet. Sally opened the door to her with an affectionate smile, for the dumb girl had learned to worship her; but Joan went straight to her room without noticing her, and threw herself upon the bed. Presently Mrs. Bird, learning from the girl that something was wrong, came upstairs bringing a cup of tea. “What is the matter with you, my dear?” she asked. “I don’t know,” answered Joan; “I feel very bad in my head and all over me.” “Influenza, I expect,” said Mrs. Bird; “there is so much of it about now. Let me help you off with your cloak and things, then drink this tea and try to go to sleep. If you are not better to-morrow morning, we shall have to send for the doctor.” Joan obeyed listlessly, swallowing the tea with an effort. “Are you sure that you have nothing on your mind, my dear?” asked Mrs. Bird. “I have been watching you for a long while, and I find a great change in you. You never did seem happy from the hour that you came here, but of late you have been downright miserable.” Joan laughed: the sound of that laugh gave Mrs. Bird “the creeps,” as she afterwards expressed it.