"Where did you get your notions. Fib? They are not the mode at all. You were born on the wrong side of fifty, I do think." "Which is the wrong side of fifty?" suggestively asked Phoebe. "I wish you wouldn't murder me with laughing," said Rhoda. "Look here now: what shall I be married in?" "White and silver, Mrs Marcella said, this morning." ("This morning!" Phoebe's words came back no her. Was it only this morning?) "Thank you! nothing so insipid for me. I think I'll have pink and dove-colour. What do you say?" "I don't think I would have pink," said Phoebe, mentally comparing that colour with Rhoda's red and white complexion. "Blue would suit you better." "Well, blue does become me," answered Rhoda, contemplating herself in the glass. "But then, would blue and dove-colour do? I think it should be blue and cold. Or blue and silver? What do you think, Phoebe? I say!"--and suddenly Rhoda turned round and faced Phoebe--"what does Madam mean by having Mr Dawson here? Betty says he was here twice while we were visiting, and he is coming again to-morrow. What can it mean? Is she altering her will, do you suppose?" "I am sure I don't know, Cousin," said Phoebe. "I shouldn't wonder if she is. I dare say she'll leave you one or two hundred pounds," said Rhoda, with extreme benignity. "Really, I wish she would. You're a good little thing, Fib, for all your whims." "Thank you, Cousin," said Phoebe, meekly. And the cousins went to sleep with amiable feelings towards each other. The dawn was just creeping over the earth when something awoke Phoebe. Something like the faint tingle of a bell seemed to linger in her ears. "Rhoda!--did you hear that?" she asked. "Hear what?" demanded Rhoda, in a very sleepy voice. "I fancied I heard a bell," said Phoebe, trying to listen. "Oh, nonsense!" answered Rhoda, rather more awake. "Go to sleep. You've been dreaming." And Phoebe, accepting the solution, took the advice. She was scarcely asleep again, as it seemed to her, when the door was softly opened, and Betty came in. "Mrs Rhoda, my dear, you'd better get up." "What time is it?" sleepily murmured Rhoda. "You'd better get up," repeated Betty. "Never mind the time." "Betty, is there something the matter?" Betty ignored Phoebe's question. "Come, my dear, jump up!" she said, still addressing Rhoda. "You'll be wanted by-and-bye." "Who wants me?" inquired Rhoda, making no effort to rise. "Well, Mr Dawson, the lawyer, is coming presently, and you'll have to see him." "I!" Rhoda's eyes opened pretty wide. "Why should I see him? 'Tis Madam wants him, not me." To the astonishment of both the girls, Betty burst out crying. "Betty, I am sure something has happened," said Phoebe, springing up. "What is the matter?" "O, my dear, Madam's gone!" sobbed Betty. "Poor dear gentlewoman! She'll never see anybody again. Mrs Rhoda, she's died in the night."