Mrs. Holland tossed her letters down to him from the piazza above, and Mr. Arnett went away.

Florence Vane came over from the cottage across the way—­came with slow, feeble steps, and sat down in the door beside her friend.  Presently Ester came out to them: 

“Sadie, can’t you go to the office for me?  I forgot to send this letter with the rest.”

“Yes,” said Sadie.  “That is if you think you can go that little bit, Florence.”

“I shall think for her,” Dr. Van Anden said, coming down the stairs.  “Florence out here to-night, with the dew falling, and not even any thing to protect your head.  I am surprised!”

“Oh, Doctor, do let me enjoy this soft air for a few minutes.”

“Positively, no.  Either come in the house, or go home directly.  You are very imprudent.  Miss Ester, I’ll mail your letters for you.”

“What does Dr. Van Anden want to act like a simpleton about Florence Vane for?” Ester asked this question late in the evening, when the sisters were alone in their room.

Sadie paused in her merry chatter.  “Why, Ester, what do you mean?  About her being out to-night?  Why, you know, she ought to be very careful; and I’m afraid she isn’t.  The doctor told her father this morning he was afraid she would not live through the season, unless she was more careful.”

“Fudge!” said Ester.  “He thinks he is a wise man; he wants to make her out very sick, so that he may have the honor of helping her.  I don’t see as she looks any worse than she did a year ago.”

Sadie turned slowly around toward her sister.  “Ester, I don’t know what is the matter with you to-night.  You know that Florence Vane has the consumption, and you know that she is my dear friend.”

Ester did not know what was the matter with herself, save that this had been the hardest day, from first to last, that she had ever known, and she was rasped until there was no good feeling left in her heart to touch.  Little Minnie had given her the last hardening touch of the day, by exclaiming, as she was being hugged and kissed with eager, passionate kisses: 

“Oh, Auntie Essie!  You’ve cried tears on my white apron, and put out all the starch.”

Ester set her down hastily, and went away.

Certainly Ester was cross and miserable.  Dr. Van Anden was one of her thorns.  He crossed her path quite often, either with close, searching words about self-control, or grave silence.  She disliked him.

Sadie, as from her pillow she watched her sister in the moonlight kneel down hastily, and knew that she was repeating a few words of prayer, thought of Mr. Arnett’s words spoken that evening, and, with her heart throbbing still under the sharp tones concerning Florence, sighed a little, and said within herself: 

“I should not wonder if Harry were right.”  And Ester was so much asleep, that she did not know, at least did not realize, that she had dishonored her Master all that day.