There were bright red spots upon her cheeks, but the lips which touched Queenie were cold as ice, as was the hand which accidentally brushed Queenie’s cheek. Ordinarily Queenie would have resented this liberty, but she did not now. She was too much excited to resent any thing, and she was so glad afterward that it was so—glad that she had some thought and care for Christine, to whom she said, as she felt her lips and hand: “How cold you are, and why do you tremble so? You surely must be ill. Don’t go out to-night; there must be plenty of vacant rooms here. Stay and rest yourself. We cannot let you die.” She had one of Christine’s cold hands in her own, chafing and rubbing it as she spoke, but when she said, so kindly, “We cannot let you die,” the woman drew it away suddenly, and bursting into a paroxysm of tears, exclaimed: “Better so; better for me to die; but for you, oh! Queenie, you must live—you and——Oh, my child, summon all your strength and courage; you will need it. There is hard work ahead for you. Do you think you can meet it?” Queenie did not know what the woman meant, but she was greatly moved and agitated, and shook from head to foot with a nameless terror. “You, too, are cold are trembling, and that will never do. Drink this,” Christine said, pouring from a flask which she always carried with her a quantity of brandy, and offering it to Queenie, who swallowed it in one draught. The brandy steadied her nerves, and after standing a moment watching Christine as she went slowly down the stairs, holding to the banisters, like one suffering from great physical weakness, she turned toward the door of the sick-room, and opening it softly, went in. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE OCCUPANT OF NO. 40. It was a large, handsome room, but it seemed gloomy and cheerless now, with only a night-lamp burning on the table, casting weird shadows here and there, and only partially revealing the form upon the bed of a tall young man, who lay with his face turned from the light and half buried in the pillow. Outside the counterpane one arm and hand were lying, and Queenie noticed that the latter was white and shapely as a woman’s, and noticed, too, the mass of light brown, slightly curling hair, which clustered around the sick man’s head and sent an indescribable thrill through her veins, as of something familiar. The man was young, she knew, though she had not seen his face, and dared not see it lest she should disturb him.