“Why are you so silent, mother dear?” asked Virginia suddenly.  “Of what are you thinking?”

“Just thinking—­that’s all,” sighed Mrs. Blaine.

Virginia, not to be put off so easily, was about to insist on an answer less vague, when suddenly the bedroom door opened and Dr. Everett appeared.  He advanced quickly into the room, his coat rumpled, his manner strangely agitated.  It was so unusual to see the physician otherwise than calm and dignified that it seemed incredible that anything, no matter how important, could ruffle him.  Mrs. Blaine’s instinct told her the reason.  Startled, she sprang to her feet.

“My God!” she exclaimed.  “He’s not—­”

The doctor shook his head.

“No; a weak spell—­that’s all.  You’d better come in.  The children can remain here.”

The next instant the two sisters were alone.

For a few moments the girls, their arms clasped round each other’s waists, stood still, as if spellbound, staring at the door which mercifully veiled from their view the tragedy of life then being enacted in the adjoining room.  Terror-stricken, too frightened even to cry, they sat down and waited, straining their ears to hear what was going on.  Why had Doctor Everett summoned their mother?  If Dad was worse, if the crisis had come, why were they, too, not permitted to see him?  Instinctively they felt that their fears were only too well founded.  They shuddered, and it seemed to them that they felt a chill in the air as if the Angel of Death had already entered the apartment and was hovering near them.  Virginia, nervous and hysterical, began to cry.  Fanny, endeavoring to appear brave, but inwardly as nervous, took the girl in her arms and spoke consolingly and sensibly to her as became an elder sister.

But Virginia obstinately refused to be comforted.  Burying her face on her sister’s shoulder, she gave free vent to the storm of tears which had been gathering in her girlish bosom all day.  Devoted to her father even more than to her mother, the mere thought of losing him was intolerable.  He was her comrade, her adviser, her mentor.  All she had undertaken or was about to undertake was to please him.  If she had excelled in her studies and advanced more rapidly than other girls in her class, he was the cause.  She needed his praise, his censure to spur her on in her work.  With him gone, it seemed to her that her own life, too, had come to an end, not realizing, in her youthful inexperience, that it had not yet commenced.

She was a singularly attractive girl and gave every promise of developing into a remarkably handsome woman.  Slight and somewhat delicate in build, she was of brunette type, with a face oval in shape, small features and large, lustrous eyes shaded by unusually long lashes.  The nose was aristocratic, and when she spoke her mouth, beautifully curved, revealed perfect teeth.  Her hands were white and shapely, and the mass of dark, silky hair which fell luxuriantly over her shoulders was the despair of every other girl of her acquaintance.