"Of course not. You shall have the window taken right out if you want it." The girl rolled up the green paper blind, pushed back the stiff lace curtains, and opened the window from the top. It was a perfect October day, and Miss Arabella felt the gentle breeze, and saw the sumach at her gate, a patch of vivid scarlet against the deep blue of the sky. At a corner of the window the boughs of an old apple-tree, still green, looked in and nodded in a friendly manner. The invalid looked bright and interested for a few minutes, then sighed and grew wan and listless again. Elsie pulled her chair up close to the bedside. "Arabella, dear," she said earnestly, "what is the matter with you?" "I--I--guess it's jist that cold I caught, hangin' on. Susan says it is." "Dr. Allen doesn't think so. He says he doesn't know what is making you ill, and Susan doesn't know, and I don't know. But you do, Arabella, and, oh, I wish you'd tell me!" She put her two strong, young hands over the thin little one lying on the coverlid. Her deep eyes were full of sympathy. A slow flush rose into Miss Arabella's face. She turned away from the girl's steady gaze. "Elsie," she whispered, "he's right. There--there is something the matter with me, and I--I think--I'm pretty sure--I'm going to die." "No, no, Arabella! You mustn't say that--you really mustn't!" The invalid was perfectly calm. "I think I am, though," she said quietly. "It's about the best thing I can do now, since----" She paused and turned away her head again. Elsie slipped to her knees by the bedside. "Won't you tell me what is wrong, Arabella?" she whispered. "Something's been troubling you all summer. I've noticed it ever since I came home." "Yes, it's jist about that time. But it can't be helped now. And it won't be long till it's all over. And, Elsie"--she glanced around, as though fearful of being overheard--"I'm goin' to leave you something!" "Oh, Arabella! don't!" cried the girl, tears rising to her eyes. "I can't bear to hear you talk like that. You'll be better in a day or two." Miss Arabella shook her head firmly. "No, Susan says I've got stubborn, an' I guess she's right; because I don't seem to want to bother about getting better. But I'd like you to have something to remember me by, Elsie. You were always different from the other girls, an' never acted as if I was old an' queer, an' I'm goin' to leave you--something." She lay still for a few moments while her companion regarded her with sorrow-filled eyes. "Elsie," she whispered suddenly, "if I tell you something--something awful, mind you, will you promise never, never to tell it to a living soul? Not even after I'm gone?" Elsie looked at her half alarmed. "Oh, Arabella!" she stammered, "of course I wouldn't tell--if you--that is if you'd really like to tell me."