"Can I do anything for you, Cornelia? Shall I call your mother?"
"No. You may fan me, if you will." She moaned and closed her eyes.
Beulah seized a fan, and did as requested, now and then wiping away the moisture which gathered around the lips and forehead. Gradually the paroxysm passed off, and, opening her eyes, she said wearily:
"That will do, thank you. Now pour out a glass of water from the pitcher yonder."
Beulah handed her the draught, saying, with surprise:
"Sitting wrapped up by a fire and drinking ice-water!"
"Yes; I use ice-water the year round. Please touch the bellrope, will you?"
As Beulah resumed her seat, Cornelia added, with a forced laugh:
"You look as if you pitied me."
"I do, most sincerely. Do you suffer in this way often?"