Her strength gave way, and she let her go.

“All declarations in my behalf are made to third persons,” I thought.

“I do believe, Miss Veronica,” said Fanny, who did not express any astonishment or resentment at the treatment she had received, “that you are going to be sick; I feel so in my bones.”

“Never mind your bones.  Twist up my hair, and think, while you do it, how to get rid of your diabolical curiosity.”

“I have had nothing to do all my life,” she answered, carefully knotting Verry’s hair, “but to be curious.  I never found out much, though, till lately”; and she cast her eyes in my direction.

“Put her out, Cassandra,” said Verry, “if you like to touch her.”

“I’ll sweep the hearth, if you please, first,” Fanny answered.  “I am a good drudge, you know.  Good-night, ladies.”

I followed Veronica, wishing to know if her room was uncomfortable.  She had made slight changes since my visit to her.  The flowers had been moved, the stand where the candle stood was covered with crimson cloth.  The dead bough and the autumn leaves were gone; but instead there was a branch of waving grasses, green and fresh, and on the table was a white flower, in a vase.

“It is freezing here, but it looks like summer.  Is it design?”

“Yes; I can’t sit here much; still, I can read in bed, and write, especially under my new quilt, which you have not seen.”

It was composed of red, black, and blue bits of silk, and beautifully quilted.  Hepsey and Temperance had made it for her.

“How about the wicket, these winter nights?”

“I drag the quilt off, and wrap it round me when I want to look out.”

We heard a bump on the floor, and Temperance appeared with warm bricks wrapped in flannel.

“You know that I will not have those things,” Verry said.

“Dear me, how contrary you are!  And you have not eaten a thing to-day.”

“Carry them out.”

Her voice was so unyielding, but always so gentle!  Temperance was obliged to deposit the bricks outside the door, which she did with a bang.

“I should think you might sleep in Cassandra’s room; her bed is big enough for three.”

No answer was made to this proposition, but Verry said,

“You may undress me, if you like, and stay till you are convinced I shall not freeze.”

“I’ve stayed till I am in an ager.  I might as well finish the night here, I spose.”

She called me after midnight, for she had not left Verry, who had been attacked with one of her mysterious disorders.

“You can do nothing for her; but I am scared out, when she faints so dreadful; I don’t like to be alone.”

Veronica could not speak, but she shook her head at me to go away.  Her will seemed to be concentrated against losing consciousness; it slipped from her occasionally, and she made a rotary motion with her arms, which I attempted to stop, but her features contracted so terribly, I let her alone.