"Thank you, Miss Gilroy, for coming. Lettie will let you know how Eileen gets on."

"I will call again to-morrow morning to inquire, if you will allow me,"

said Leslie.

"Certainly, if you wish."

The widow spoke in an indifferent tone. She opened the door, and Leslie was just going into the hall when Lettie rushed downstairs.

"Marjorie wants you, Leslie; you are to go straight up to her this minute."

"Marjorie wishes to see Miss Gilroy?" interrupted Mrs. Chetwynd.

"Yes, Aunt Helen; and a very good thing too. I just happened to mention that Leslie had called, and Marjorie said at once she must see her, that no one in all the world could do her so much good. Go up to her, Leslie; don't waste time talking."

"May I?" said Leslie, looking anxiously at Mrs. Chetwynd.

"Oh, certainly, dear, if she wishes it; but I must own--"

"Come, come, Leslie, there is not a minute to lose," said Lettie.

They flew upstairs together, and a moment later had entered Marjorie's room.

Marjorie had flung herself face downwards on the bed. She was wearing an untidy serge skirt, and a loose, ill-fitting washing blouse. Her tangled short hair was waved like a mop over her head. She did not look up when she heard the two girls enter the room; and when Leslie's soft voice said, "I am very sorry for you, Marjorie." her only reply was to clutch the pillow, round which she had clasped her arms, more convulsively than ever, and to say in a choking voice, "I wish Lettie would go away. I know she is in the room too. I want to be alone with you, Leslie."

Lettie raised her brows, made a pantomimic sign to Leslie to show how badly she was appreciated, and stole on tiptoe out of the room.

"Has she gone?" asked Marjorie, still keeping her face hidden.

"Yes."

"Well, shut the door, won't you?"

Leslie did so.

"Turn the key in the lock, please."

"Oh, Marjorie! is that right to your mother?"

"I won't see mother, and I won't see Lettie. Lock the door, will you, at once?"

Leslie instantly turned the well-oiled key in the lock. When she had done so, Marjorie sat up, pushed the hair from her forehead, and looked at Leslie from between her swollen eyelids.

"I feel so dazed," she said.

Her face was red and inflamed in parts, and deadly white in other parts, her eyes had sunk into her head, and their color was almost washed away with violent weeping.

"Oh, come close, Leslie," she said, suddenly stretching out her arms; "let me lean against you."

Leslie went up to her; she clasped her own strong arms round her, laid the tired, flushed face against her breast, pushed back the hair with one of her hands, and began gently to stroke the hot cheek.

"There, darling, there," said Leslie. She did not say anything more, not even "I am sorry for you," but she kept on repeating the "there, darling, there," until Marjorie, like a tired baby, closed her eyes, and actually dropped off to sleep.

Leslie sat motionless, bearing the weight of the tired girl's head on her shoulder. Marjorie slept for about ten minutes, then with a violent start she looked up, saw Leslie, and clutched hold of her with a fierce strain.

"Oh, I have had such an awful dream," she said. "I thought you were here, but that you would not stay, and that Eileen was lying on the bed dead, and that you would not let me touch her. Oh, I am glad it was a dream, and that you are here. You will stay now, won't you? I can just bear to be away from Eileen when you are here, for you are not like others; you seem to understand. Will you go and find mother, and ask her to let you stay with me?"

"Could we not ring the bell and tell the servant, and perhaps your mother would come here?"

"But I won't have her in the room; she does worry me so dreadfully."

"She is in great trouble, too," said Leslie. "You ought to be kind to her, Marjorie."

"Oh, don't begin to lecture me; I can't stand it. You must let me have my own way now, whatever happens in the future. You have come here of your own will, and go you shan't."

"I will stay with you if it will really comfort you," said Leslie. "What you want more than anything else is a long, quiet sleep, and you must have it. Lie down; I will go and find your mother."

Marjorie flopped down again on the bed, seized the pillow, clasped it in her arms, and buried her head in it.

Leslie unlocked the door and went out. On the landing a faint smell of carbolic and eau-de-Cologne greeted her. She stood for a moment hesitating. As she did so, a nurse came out of the sick-room.

"I saw you standing there, and thought perhaps you wanted something,"

she said.

"Yes, I want to find Mrs. Chetwynd," replied Leslie, in a low voice.

"She is in her room, and, I hope, asleep. Perhaps I can do something for you?"

"I wished to see her. I have a message from Marjorie."

"Poor child, I trust she is becoming more reasonable. What does she want, may I ask?"

"She wishes me very much indeed to stay with her. She thinks she can bear to be away from Eileen if I am here."

"Then, for Heaven's sake, do grant her request. It is quite unnecessary to awaken poor Mrs. Chetwynd to tell her this. In the interest of my patient, I take upon myself the responsibility of giving you permission to stay. Do you need any clothes? We can send a messenger presently."

"I must write to my mother, who will send me what I require," replied Leslie. "Very well, I will go back to Marjorie now. You are quite certain that Mrs. Chetwynd won't mind?"

"Mind! She will bless you."

"Please, please, nurse, tell me before I go, how Eileen really is?"

The nurse shook her head.

"She is very ill indeed," she answered.

"Do you mean," said Leslie, turning pale, "that there is danger?"

"Don't ask me," said the nurse. "We are doing what we can for her; but in G.o.d's hand alone are the issues of life."