Mrs. Grant got up and came around to where Miss Carson was sitting.  As she laid her hand upon her forehead, she said, a little anxiously, “You have considerable fever, Mary.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.”  And a sudden cough seized her as she spoke.  She cried out as the rapid concussions jarred her, and pressed one hand against her side.

“Oh dear!  It seemed as if a knife were cutting through me,” she said, as the paroxysm subsided, and she leaned her head against Mrs. Grant.

“Come, child,” and the kind woman drew upon one of her arms.  “In bed is the place for you now.”

They went up stairs, and Mary was soon undressed and in bed.  As she touched the cool sheets, she shivered for a moment, and then shrank down under the clothes, shutting her eyes, and lying very still.

“How do you feel now?” asked Mrs. Grant, who stood bending over her.

Mary did not reply.

“Does the pain in your side continue?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Her voice was dull.

“And the tightness over your breast?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Nothing.  I want rest and sleep.”

Mrs. Grant stood for some time looking down upon Mary’s red cheeks; red in clearly defined spots, that made the pale forehead whiter by contrast.

“Something more than sleep is wanted, I fear,” she said to herself, as she passed from the chamber and went down stairs.  In less than half an hour she returned.  A moan reached her ears as she approached the room where the sick girl lay.  On entering, she found her sitting high up in bed; or, rather, reclining against the pillows, which she had adjusted against the head-board.  Her face, which had lost much of its redness, was pinched and had a distressed look.  Her eyes turned anxiously to Mrs. Grant.

“How are you now, Mary?”

“Oh, I’m sick!  Very sick, Mrs. Grant.”

“Where?  How, Mary?”

“Oh, dear!’ I’m so distressed here!” laying her hand on her breast.  “And every time I draw a breath, such a sharp pain runs through my side into my shoulder.  Oh, dear!  I feel very sick, Mrs. Grant.”

“Shall I send for a doctor?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”  And Miss Carson threw her head from side to side, uneasily—­almost impatiently; then cried out with pain, as she took a deeper inspiration than usual.

Mrs. Grant left the room, and going down stairs, despatched her servant for a physician, who lived not far distant.

“It is pleurisy,” said the doctor, on examining the case.—­“And a very severe attack,” he added, aside, to Mrs. Grant.