“Will it be possible to get it done to-night?” asked Mrs. Condy.

“It will be hard work, madam,” said Ellen, whose heart was with her sister.

“Oh, it can be finished,” said Mary, “if we all work hard for two or three hours.  The fact is, it must be done.  I wouldn’t miss having it for the world.”

With a sigh, Ellen turned again to her work; though feeble nature was wellnigh sinking under the task forced upon her.  It was past eleven o’clock when the dress was finished, and Ellen prepared to go home to her sister.

“But you are not going home to-night?” said Mr. Condy, who was now present.

“O yes, sir.  I haven’t seen sister since morning, and she’s very ill.”

“What is the matter with your sister?” asked Mr. Condy, in a kind tone.

“I’m afraid she’s got the consump—­” It vas the first time Ellen had attempted to utter the word, and the sound, even though the whole of it remained unspoken, broke down her feelings, and she burst into tears.

Instinctively, Mr. Condy reached for his hat and cane, and as he saw Ellen recover, by a strong effort, her self-possession, he said—­

“It is too late for you to go home alone, Ellen, and as we cannot ask you, under the circumstances, to stay all night, I will go with you.”

Ellen looked her gratitude, for she was really afraid to go into the street alone at that late hour.  As they walked along, Mr. Condy, by many questions, ascertained that Ellen had been almost compelled to work day and night to make up mourning garments for his family, and to absent herself from her sick sister, while she needed her most careful attention.  Arrived at her humble dwelling, his benevolent feelings prompted him to ascertain truly the condition of Margaret, for his heart misgave him that her end was very nigh.

On entering the chamber, they found Mrs. Ryland, the neighbour who lived below, supporting Margaret in the bed, who was gasping for breath as if every moment in fear of suffocation.  Ellen sprung forward with a sudden exclamation, and, taking Mrs. Ryland’s place, let the head of her sister fall gently upon her bosom.  Mr. Condy looked on for a moment, and then hastily retired.  As soon as he reached home, he despatched a servant for the family physician, with a special request to have him visit Ellen’s sister immediately.  He then went into his wife’s chamber, where the daughters, with their mother, were engaged in looking over their new morning apparel.

“I’m afraid,” said he, “that you have unintentionally been guilty of a great wrong.”

“How?” asked Mrs. Condy, looking up with sudden surprise.

“In keeping Ellen here so late from her sister, who is, I fear, at this moment dying.”

“Is it possible!” exclaimed the mother and daughters with looks of alarm.

“It is, I fear, too true.  But now, all that can be done is to try and make some return.  I want you, Mary, and your mother, to put on your bonnets and shawls and go with me.  Something may yet be done for poor Margaret.  I have already sent for the doctor.”