"I couldn't help it," she said at last without raising her head. "I didn't want to sew, with mother lying dead—but I couldn't help it. I really couldn't. It's not for me," she flung out at last, the long hidden secret surrendered after all. "It's not for me—and I had to get it done. They insisted so—and I couldn't afford to lose them—it's for a party."
The blood left Harvey's face, then surged hotly back to it again. His arms fell from about her and he sat like one in a trance. His eyes roved dumbly about the room, falling here and there upon many a thing, unnoticed in the first survey, that confirmed the assurance which now chilled him to the heart. Then his eyes turned to his sister's face. It was averted, downcast—but he could see, what he had but casually remarked before, how the hand of toil had left its mark upon it. Sweet and tender and unselfish, courage and resolution in every line, he could now read the whole sad story of what lay behind. The worn fingers were interlocked upon her lap, and he could see how near the blood was to the very fingertips. And as he reflected, almost madly, upon the desperate necessity that had held her to her work under the very shadow of death, and driven her to it though with a broken heart; as he recalled the mysterious sources of support that had never failed him till his college course was done, a flood of sacred light broke upon it all—and the dear form before him, tired and wasted as it was, was gently drawn to his bosom with hands of reverent love, his murmuring lips pressed lightly to the burning cheeks in penitent devotion.
"Forgive me, sister," he pleaded in a faltering voice, "oh, forgive me; for I did not know—I did not know."
Her answer was never spoken; but it came.
It was not long till he had learned, and from her own reluctant lips, all the story of the toil and drudgery that had been thus so suddenly revealed. But, protest as he might, Jessie was resolved to press on with the work she had been engaged in.
"I'm just as well able to work as you are, Harvey," she said earnestly. "I certainly will not give up the store."
"But I'm sure of a position on the newspaper I was telling you about, Jessie," Harvey urged—"and I can at least help; I can always spare a little," he assured her confidently, "and there's one thing you must do before very long," he went on eagerly; "you've really got to come and stay a while with Miss Farringall. She practically made me promise for you. Couldn't somebody mind the store while you're away?"
"I suppose so," Jessie relented enough to say; "Miss Adair could manage it well enough, of course. And I'd love to have a long visit with you, brother," she added fondly. "We're all alone in the world now, Harvey," her voice trembling as the tired eyes filled to overflowing—"we haven't anybody else but each other now."
Harvey looked her full in the face. "There's another," he said in a whisper after a long silence.
Jessie started violently; then her demand for more light came swift and urgent.