"What is the matter?" asked Eugenia, confusedly. Then, coming a little to herself, she sat up and looked at the girl. "My head is aching dreadfully," she said, laying it back among the pillows as she spoke; "is that why you have brought me some tea, Rachel? Oh, no; of course you could not know. But there is something the matter, Rachel; you look as if there were." "No, indeed, ma'am, there isn't; nothing, that is to say, except your head being bad. I was awake very early this morning, and I had my breakfast sooner than usual, and I thought you might like a cup of tea." "I am very glad of it," said Eugenia, languidly. "But what made you get up so early. Had you a bad night too?" "Oh, no, ma'am, thank you. I was wakened, by some visitors arriving unexpectedly about five o'clock. One visitor, at least. A young lady." "What an odd time to arrive," observed Eugenia, carelessly. But, glancing at Rachel as she spoke, something in the girl's manner again caught her attention. "_Who_ is the young lady?" she asked, quickly. "Is it some one to see me--is it my sister?" "No, ma'am, it is not Mrs Thurston," replied Rachel, evidently afraid lest her words should cause disappointment. "It could not be Mrs Thurston, for she will only get your address this morning, you remember, ma'am. But it _is_ some one for you. It is--" "It is I," interrupted a voice at the door. "May I come in, Eugenia?" and in a moment Roma Eyrecourt stood by the bedside. "You poor child," she went on, hurriedly, as if to cover some embarrassment, and without giving Eugenia time to speak; "how burning your hands are, and your head too! I am not going to tease you, dear. I have come to do exactly what you tell me, except go away. You won't send me away, Eugenia, will you?" There was some anxiety in her tone; she leant over towards Eugenia as she spoke, and looked earnestly into her face with her beautiful, bright dark eyes--not keen or contemptuous now, but tender and loving, and almost entreating in their expression. The struggle, if there were one, was quickly over with Eugenia. She threw her arms round her friend's neck and kissed her warmly. "It is very, very good of you to have come," she whispered. "I know it is pure goodness that has brought you. I have tried to fancy I hated you, but I don't. I love you and trust you. But, oh, Roma, I have been so miserable!" "Too miserable, a great deal too miserable. I can fancy it all," said Roma, sympathisingly. "But, Eugenia, you do look so tired. I am sure you have not slept well. Do try to go to sleep again, and try to believe you are not going to be so miserable as you think. I will talk to you as much as ever you like when I see you looking better. I will tell you everything--what made me come here, and _anything_ more you like to ask me, if you will do what I tell you now. I have one or two letters to write for the early post. I will come back in a little, I promise you."