It was Ethel, tall and white and spirit-like, hovering over her in the flood of white moonlight.
"Sister!" cried Precious in surprise, then with a swift fear: "Oh, what has happened? Earle?"
"There is no bad news of Earle. Do not be frightened, dear," and Ethel knelt down by the white bed, crying shudderingly: "Oh, Precious, I am so unhappy I shall die unless I find some comfort!"
Her face was convulsed with pain. Some burning tears fell on the younger girl's cheek as Ethel leaned above her, sobbing wildly, her pallid face half-hidden by the long veil of dark, flowing tresses.
She felt white arms reach out and draw her close; warm lips kissed the burning tears from her cheeks.
"Ah, Ethel, I know, I understand, for I heard to-day," whispered Precious fondly. "You think he loves me best—papa, I mean. But, Ethel, no, it is not that. I will tell you how it is. He loves me because I have mamma's face—mamma whom he worships so tenderly. Ethel, do not let it grieve you. He loves you well, and I——"
"Hush, child, you madden me!" cried Ethel hoarsely. She was silent a moment, then resumed passionately:
"Precious, you pretend to love me, and now I will prove your love. All your life you have robbed me with those sunny blue eyes of the love that should have been mine. Do you wish to atone, to press all this jealous anger from my breast and make me happy again? Then I will tell you how. You know that I have lost my lover, that I discarded him rashly, unjustly, in pride and anger. He is too proud to sue for a reconciliation, yet I cannot live without him. It was jealous madness that made me throw him over, and now I repent my folly, I yearn to be reconciled to my darling."
Her burning hand clasped her sister's icy fingers.