“Hop right into bed, and I’ll cover you up. It gets chilly here at night,” she said, turning back the sheet and shaking up the pillow. Elithe needed no second bidding, and before her aunt left the room she was again sleeping soundly. Miss Hansford ate her supper alone, lamenting over the custards, which stood untouched in the little cups until Paul came whistling up the walk. He was on his way to see Clarice, and had called to enquire for Elithe. She had seemed so tired on the boat and on the wharf that her face had haunted him ever since, and he wished to know if she were rested. “Hello, taking your supper alone?” he said, as he saw Miss Hansford sitting in solitary state with what he knew to be her _best things_. She welcomed him warmly, thanked him for his kindness to Elithe, who, she told him, was dead beat and had fallen asleep saying her prayers. “I couldn’t get her to eat a thing,—not even a custard, and I made ’em for her. I never touch ’em. There’s four of ’em, and I’m afraid they’ll sour unless you help me out,” she said, offering him a little blue cup. He had just finished his dinner, but he expressed himself willing to help in the emergency, and ate the two custards intended for Elithe. He was very solicitous about her, hoping she would be quite well in the morning and saying he would come round in his cart and take her for a drive. Then he shook himself down,—a habit he had,—straightened his hat and said he must go and see Clarice. “Elithe saw her on the boat, I b’lieve. Tell her to call,” Miss Hansford said, jerking the last words out with an effort, and hating herself for caring whether Clarice called or not. “Of course she’ll call. We’ll come together,” Paul assured her, as he ran down the steps and hurried off to make his peace with the young lady who, he felt pretty sure, was aggrieved because he had sent Elithe home in his carriage instead of herself. Three or four times before her usual hour for retiring, Miss Hansford went up to Elithe’s room, finding her always in the same position, her head on one side, her hands crossed upon her bosom and her face very white, except for the spots on her cheeks, which increased in size until they spread down to her neck. Her hands were hot and her head was hot, but she appeared to be sleeping quietly. “Just tired, I guess. I’m not going to worry,” Miss Hansford thought. But she did worry, and as soon as the first streak of dawn appeared she was dressed and in Elithe’s room again. To all appearances there had not been the slightest change of position during the night. The hands were folded just the same, the head was turned on the pillow, and the bed clothes exactly as Miss Hansford had left them. “Elithe!” she said. “Elithe, wake up!” But Elithe made no answer except to open her eyes for an instant and close them again wearily. Her face was crimson now, and the perspiration stood under her hair, which, with the dampness, curled closely on her forehead.