Isabel lay buried in the blue easy-chair, her face, encircled by one arm, hidden against its back. The great braids of her yellow hair were dishevelled and loosened, without being in graceful disorder. Her whole form trembled with the force of her hysterical sobbing. At Annie’s touch upon her shoulder she raised her face quickly. It was tear-stained, haggard, and looked soft with that flabbiness of outline which trouble may give to the fairest woman’s beauty when it is not built upon youth; over this face passed a quick look of disappointment at recognition of Annie. “Oh, it is you!” The almost petulant words escaped before Isabel could collect herself. She sat up now, wiping her eyes, and striving with all her might for control of her thoughts and tongue. “Yes, Isabel. I _was_ going up to Sabrina’s room, but I heard you sobbing here, and I felt that I must come to you. It is all so terrible--and I do so feel for you!” “Terrible--yes, it _is_ terrible! It was kind of you to come--very kind. I--I scarcely realize it all, yet. It was such a shock!” “I know, poor dear.” Annie laid her hand caressingly on the other’s brow. She had not come with over-tenderness in her heart, but this unexpected depth of suffering, so palpably real, touched her keenly. “I know. Don’t try to talk to me--don’t feel that it is necessary. Only let me be of use to you. It will be a dreadful time for you all--and perhaps I can spare you some. I shan’t go to the school to-day. Oughtn’t you to go up to your room now, Isabel, and lie down, and leave me here to--to arrange things?” “No, not yet! Perhaps soon I will. My impulse is to stay down, to spare myself nothing, to force myself to suffer everything that there is to be suffered. I’ll see; perhaps that may not be best. But not now! not now! No--don’t go! Stay with me. I dread to be left alone; my own thoughts murder me!” She rose to her feet, and began pacing to and from the piano. “Let me walk--and you talk to me--anything, it doesn’t matter what--it will help occupy my mind. Oh, yes--were you at Crump’s last night? I heard them come by, late, singing.” “Oh, Isabel, how _can_ we talk of such trivial things? Yes, I was there; I was in the singing party, too. It makes me shudder to think that at that very minute, perhaps----” The girl paused for a moment, with parted lips and troubled face, as if pondering some sudden thought; then exclaimed, “_Oh-h!_ the horse! Could it have been!” “Could what have been!” Isabel stopped in her caged-panther-like pacing, and looked deep inquiry.