“Very well, Gussie, I won’t say any more about it,” she said; “but it is no good hiding the truth, dear. I am tired of fighting against it; it is no good—none at all. Anyhow we have loved each other very much, dear; and perhaps—somewhere else—we may again.”—And the brave little heart again broke down, and, overcome by the prescience of approaching separation, they both sobbed bitterly there upon the sofa. Presently came a knock at the door, and Augusta sprang up and turned to hide her tears. It was the maid-of-all-work bringing the tea; and, as she came blundering in, a sense of the irony of things forced itself into Augusta’s soul. Here they were plunged into the most terrible sorrow, weeping at the inevitable approach of that chill end, and still appearances must be kept up, even before a maid-of-all-work. Society, even when represented by a maid-of-all-work, cannot do away with the intrusion of domestic griefs, or any other griefs, and in our hearts we know it and act up to it. Far gone, indeed, must we be in mental or physical agony before we abandon the attempt to keep up appearances. Augusta drank a little tea and ate a very small bit of bread-and-butter. As in the case of Mr. Meeson, the events of the day had not tended to increase her appetite. Jeannie drank a little milk but ate nothing. When this form had been gone through, and the maid-of-all-work had once more made her appearance and cleared the table, Jeannie spoke again. “Gus,” she said, “I want you to put me to bed and then come and read to me out of ‘Jemima’s Vow’—where poor Jemima dies, you know. It is the most beautiful thing in the book, and I want to hear it again.” Her sister did as she wished, and, taking down “Jemima’s Vow,” Jeannie’s _own_ copy as it was called, being the very first that had come into the house, she opened it at the part Jeannie had asked for and read aloud, keeping her voice as steady as she could. As a matter of fact, however, the scene itself was as powerful as it was pathetic, and quite sufficient to account for any unseemly exhibitions of feeling on the part of the reader. However, she struggled through it till the last sentence was reached. It ran thus:—“And so Jemima stretched out her hand to him and said ‘Good-bye.’ And presently, knowing that she had now kept her promise, and being happy because she had done so, she went to sleep.” “Ah!” murmured the blue-eyed child who listened. “I wish that I was as good as Jemima. But though I have no vow to keep I can say ‘Good-bye,’ and I can go to sleep.”