"She is ill; I'm sure of it; for she eats no more than a little bird, and she gets weaker every day. I think I had better have the doctor up, don't you?" she answered, anxiously.
"Yes; I'll send him when I go out," Teddy replied; and then he went back to the young girl, who was lying back in an easy-chair, trying to interest herself in a little book of poems he had brought her with some flowers.
"Do you find anything pretty in it?" he asked, tenderly.
"I—I don't know. I'm afraid I've not tried," she answered, penitently, ashamed that she could not seem happier to these kind friends who were so good.
He took the book from her hands and began to read aloud some pretty bits here and there, in a musical and well-modulated voice.
"Listen to this. I am sure you will agree with me that it is pretty," he said, and read, softly:
"'Oh, Love, so sweet at first,
So bitter in the end;
Thou canst be fiercest foe
As well as fairest friend.
"'Ay, thou art swift to slay,
Despite thy kiss and clasp,
Thy long, caressing look,
Thy subtle, thrilling grasp!
"'Yet, cruel as the grave.
Go, go, and come no more!
But canst thou set my heart
Just where it was before?
"'Go, go, and come no more!
Go leave me with thy tears,
The only gift of thine
That shall outlive the years.'"