She met him and seized his hands as she exclaimed:
“How is your sister? How is my dear Erminie?”
“Oh, Britomarte! Oh, my friend, in what an hour of sorrow we meet!”
“She is—not gone?” hurriedly breathed Miss Conyers.
“No, not gone, but she is an angel prepared for Heaven, and she is going,” groaned Justin.
“Oh, what is it? What is it that is killing her?” wept Britomarte.
Justin told her, as Elfie had told him:
“A malignant fever, caught in the hospital during her attendance upon the sick soldiers.”
“Elfie? where is she? How is she?”
“Well, except that she is very much fatigued with incessant watching. She is gone to lie down for a few hours.”