"Oh, she does not expect you: and indeed, Miss Caroline,--do let me beg of you,--Dr Summerfield did just hint yesterday--just a hint, you understand,--about small-pox. I could not on any account let you go up, for your own sake." "Is my sister so ill as that?" I replied. "I think we might have expected to be told it sooner. Then, Madam, I shall certainly go up. Miss Crossland, will you show me the way?" I do not know whether Mrs Crossland thought me bold and unladylike, but if she had known how every bit of me was trembling, she might perhaps have changed that view. "O Miss Caroline, how can you? I could not allow Annabella to do such a thing. Think of the clanger!--Annabella, come back! You shall not go into an infected air." "Pardon me, Madam, but I thought you proposed yourself to send Miss Annabella. Then I will not trouble any one. I can find the way myself." And resolutely closing the door behind me, up-stairs I walked. I did not believe a word about Hatty having the small-pox: but if I had done, I should have done the same. I heard behind me exclamations of--"That bold, brazen thing! She will find out all. Annabella, call Godfrey! call him! That hussy must not--" I was up-stairs by this time. I rapped at the first door, and had no answer; the second was the same. From the third I heard the sound of weeping, and a man's voice, which I thought I recognised as that of Mr Crossland. "I shall not allow of any more hesitation," he was saying. "You must make your choice to-day. You have given me trouble enough, and have made far too many excuses. I shall wait no longer." "Oh, once more!--only once more!" was the answer, interrupted by heartrending sobs,--in whose voice I rather guessed than heard. Neither would I wait any longer. I never thought about ceremony and gentility, any more than about the possible dangers, known and unknown, which I might be running. I opened the door and walked straight in. Mr Crossland stood on the hearth, clad in a queer long black gown, and a black cap upon his head. On a chair near him sat a girl, her head bowed down in her hands upon the table, weeping bitterly. Her long dark hair was partly unfastened, and falling over her shoulder: what I could see of her face was white as death. Was this white, cowed creature our once pert, bright Hatty? "What do you want?" said Mr Crossland, angrily, as he caught sight of me. "Oh, I beg pardon, Miss Caroline. Your poor sister is suffering so much to-day. I have been trying to divert her a little, but her pain is so great. How very good of you to come! Was no one here to show you anywhere, that you had to come by yourself?" The bowed head had been lifted up, and the face that met my eyes was one of the extremest misery. She held out her arms to me with a low, sad, wailing cry-- "O Cary, Cary, save me! Cannot you save me?" I walked past that black-robed wretch, and took poor Hatty in my arms, drawing her head to lie on my bosom.