"And so you have taken our young friend Rhoda into the number of your pupils?" continued Mr. Ferrand, as though willing to change the subject. "Is not that rather a hazardous experiment? I do not mean as regards Rhoda herself—she has a fine mind, and a real love of study for its own sake; but will not the parents of your pupils take umbrage at a young person in her station in life being put on an equality with their daughters?" "If they do, they have their remedy: they can take their daughters away," said Miss Hardy, smiling. "But I have no fears on that score. It is not the first time I tried the experiment." "I thought you wrote me that you had secured her a place as nurse with a family going to Cape May?" remarked Mrs. Ferrand. "So I had, and a very good place. Rhoda was delighted with the prospect, but after I was hurt, she would not hear of leaving me; and indeed I don't know what I should have done without her. She is an excellent nurse and a most agreeable companion." "I had thought, myself, of taking her into the family and educating her with Isabella," said Mr. Ferrand, "but something occurred which changed my determination. I found out afterward, however, that the person whose representations influenced me was untrustworthy. However, it has all turned out for the best." Meantime, Rhoda and Isa, seated in Rhoda's little room, were pouring out such a flood of talk as only two such girls are capable of. "And Aunt Harriet is going to educate you—is she really?" asked Isa. "So she says. I practise two hours a day now, besides reading history to Miss Hardy, and I have begun the Latin grammar. I can tell you, Isa, I have to pinch myself sometimes to be sure that I am awake and not dreaming. And the best of it is that I owe it all to you and your mother. But what have you been doing lately? Miss Hardy said you had been taking some wonderful music-lessons." "Wonderful! Yes, I should think so," said. Isa, with a groan. "A lesson every day, and then practise five hours. What do you think of that, Miss Thurston?" "I think it is a shame," said Rhoda, warmly. "You look regularly worn out." "Well, I am," said Isa, wearily. "I think I shouldn't want to go to heaven if they have music there. I should like to lie down and sleep a thousand years. And my head—" "Well, what about your head?" said Rhoda, as Isa paused. There was no answer, and Rhoda looked up from the ruffle she was arranging. Ira's head had dropped on her breast, her eyes were half closed, and there was a slight purplish tinge on her lips. Rhoda, startled, rose from her chair, but before she could speak Isa seemed to recover herself, and went on as if unconscious of any pause: "My head feels so badly I don't know what to do. It doesn't ache, but it feels heavy and empty at the same time."