With my intense nature, so susceptible either to pleasure or pain, those lonely hours in my own room, that bitter day, left their trace on heart and body for long weary weeks. When at last Mrs. Flaxman came to me, her own face sad and troubled, I no longer felt the cold in my fireless room; for the blood now was rushing feverishly in my veins, and my head throbbing with intense pain. I listened to what she had to say in a dazed, half-conscious way. I heard her say something about Mr. Winthrop's displeasure, but I was too sick to care very much for anything, just then. I startled her at last by saying:--"I do not understand what you are saying. Please wait and tell me some other time." "Sure, you have not been sitting all this time here in the cold. You should have gone where it was warm, or rung for Esmerelda to kindle your fire." I rose and tried to walk across the room; but staggered and would have fallen only that she supported me. "Are you sick, Medoline?" She asked, in great alarm. "My head aches and I am very hot," I said uncertainly. I was unused to sickness and scarcely knew how much pain was necessary before I could truthfully say I was ill. I remember thinking the matter over with great seriousness, and wishing Mrs. Blake, with her superior knowledge of bodily ailments, was there to decide, until at last I got tired and tried to forget all about it. Then everything began to grow uncertain. I knew that I was lying in bed and the fire burning brightly in the grate, while persons were passing to and fro; but they did not look familiar. I kept wishing so much that Mrs. Blake would come with her strong, cheery presence to comfort me, and if she would give me a drink of pure cold water from one of her own clean glasses I should be content to turn my face to the wall and sleep. But after a time my one despairing thought was Mr. Winthrop's displeasure, while hour after hour, and day after day, I tried to tell him that I did not mean to deceive him, and wanted to be just to every one alike, but he was never convinced and used to come and go with the same stern, hard look on his face that nearly broke my heart. When just at the point of utter despair, when I thought all had turned against me, Mr. Bowen or Mrs. Blake used to step up and tell me they understood it all and believed in me, then for awhile I would shut my eyes and rest, only to open them again to plead once more for forgiveness; but to plead vainly. Then I would be on the point of leaving Oaklands forever, and bidding good-bye to every one in the household save Mr. Winthrop. He always turned away sternly and refused me his hand. I was not conscious when it was day or night. It was all one perpetual twilight. I would ask if the sun would never rise again, or the moon come back with her soft shining; but no one heeded my questions. I resolved to be so patient after this in answering people's questions when their