"Absurd to talk of waiting. You know nothing about it. Go on. Don't stay for me. Of course I must give it up altogether;" and she clutched at her bonnet-strings, and tore her bonnet off her head. The doctor was amazed, and doubted for a moment whether it would not be better to do without her help. "It doesn't matter, Miss Tacchi," said Mr. Montgomery; "I shall not be on for an hour and a half, but I must be there. If you will come with your brother, you will be in plenty of time." She sullenly went upstairs, and Andrew remained below. When she entered the room she shut the door with some vehemence, and the little maid-of-all-work, who was at the head of the bed, came to meet her. "Oh, if you please, Miss Tacchi, the doctor said she was to be kept so quiet. Poor Miss Tippit; she is very bad, Miss; I think she's insensible." "You need not tell me what to do. I know just as well as yourself." The sufferer lay perfectly still, and apparently unconscious. Miriam looked at her for a moment; and felt rebuked, but went and sat by the fire. "I don't mind doing anything for her," she said to herself, "although, she is no particular friend of mine, and not a person whom it is a pleasure to assist; but I really don't know whether, in justice to myself and Andrew, I ought to remain, seeing how seldom we get a chance of enjoying ourselves, and how important a change is for both of us." There is no person whom we can more easily deceive--no, not even the silliest gull--than ourselves. We are always perfectly willing to deny ourselves to any extent, or even to ruin ourselves, but unfortunately it does not seem right we should do so. It is not selfishness, but a moral obligation which intervenes. The man who went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves was left half-dead. The priest and the Levite, who came and looked and passed by on the other side, assuredly convinced themselves that most likely the swooning wretch was not alive. They were on most important professional errands. _Ought_ they to run the risk of entirely upsetting those solemn, engagements by incurring the Levitical penalty of contact with a corpse? There was but a mere chance that they could do any good. This person was entirely unknown to them; his life might not be worth saving, for he might be a rascal; and, on the other hand, there were sacred duties--duties to their God. What priest or Levite, with proper religious instincts, could possibly hesitate? Was the Miriam who chafed at her disappointment, and invented casuistical arguments to excuse herself, the same Miriam who walked over to see Mortimer, Wake, and Collins on behalf of Mr. Cutts? Precisely the same. The doctor kept his engagement, and in an hour returned with a nurse. When Miriam saw she was relieved, she became compassionate. "I am so grieved," she said to the doctor, "to see Miss Tippit so ill. Is there really _nothing_ I can do for her?" "Nothing, madam."