Gertrude, paler than ever, rose without a word, and went into the sick-room.
"Poor old Lucy, she looked as if she were going to cry. I asked her if she had any message for Frank," said Phyllis, as her sister sat down beside her, and adjusted the lamp.
"You are over-exciting yourself. Lie still, Phyllis."
"But, Gerty, I feel ever so much better to-night."
Silence. Gertrude sewed, and the invalid lay with closed eyes, but the flutter of the long lashes told that she was not asleep.
"Gerty!" In about half an hour the grey eyes had unclosed, and were fixed widely on her sister's face.
"What is it?"
"Gerty, am I really going to die?"
"You are very ill," said Gertrude, in a low voice.