“What is it, Pierre?” she asked in a whisper, going close to him and observing that he stood against the door as if to keep her from passing. “Whose voices do I hear, and is any one sick? I was just coming to ascertain. Let me pass, please.” “No, no, mademoiselle. Don’t come. She said you were not to know. We are doing all we can for her.” Pierre cried, in great alarm, thus letting out the secret he had been told to keep. “Do all you can for her? For whom? Who is it that is sick, and said I must not know?” Queenie asked, as she put the old man aside, and opening the door, drew him with her into the hall. “Now tell me the truth,” she continued. “Is some one sick whom I ought to see? Is it—Christine?” “Yes,” he answered, “it is Madame Christine, and she is very bad. She will die, the doctor fears, but she said you must not know. You must not leave Mr. Rossiter for her and she sent me many times to see how he was.” Pierre was right, for in a small room at the end of the hall Christine La Rue was dying. She who had braved so much and borne so much and passed through so many dangers unscathed, had at last succumbed to the terrible disease which she knew was creeping upon her, when she sent for Queenie to share her vigils by Phil’s bedside. “I must not give up yet; I must endure and bear until he is out of danger. I must save him for her sake,” she thought, and fought down with a desperate courage and iron will the horrid sensations stealing over her so fast and making her sometimes almost beside herself with dizziness and languor. But when the crisis was past and she felt sure Phil was safe, she could endure it no longer, and with one long, lingering look at Queenie, whom she felt she should never see again, she started for her own lodgings. “I can die there alone and so trouble no one,” she thought, as she made her way to the staircase. But on the first landing her strength failed her and she fell upon the floor, where she lay, or rather sat in a half upright position, leaning against the wall with her face in her hands, until a voice roused her and she looked up to see a man standing before her and asking who she was and why she was there. It was the proprietor of the house, who, ashamed of his cowardice, had returned and going first through the rooms below where everything was as he had left it, started to ascend the stair to the chambers above, when he came upon Christine, whom he had often seen on her errands of mercy, but whom he did not recognize until she looked up and spoke to him. Then he knew her, and exclaimed: “Sister Christine! What are you doing here, and what is the matter with you?” “I am sick—I have the fever,” she replied; “and if you are afraid, leave me at once.”