"Hadn't you better lie down for a little while?"
"Oh, no—thank you, Mrs. Wykoff." And a smile flitted over the girl's sweet, sad face; a smile that was meant to say—"How absurd to think of such a thing!" She was there to work, not to be treated as an invalid. Stooping over the garment, she went on with her sewing. Mrs. Wykoff looked at her very earnestly, and saw that her lips were growing colorless; that she moved them in a nervous way, and swallowed every now and then.
"Come, child," she said, in a firm tone, as she took Miss Carson by the arm. "Put aside your work, and lie down on that sofa. You are sick."
She did not resist; but only said—-
"Not sick, ma'am—only a little faint."
As her head went heavily down upon the pillow, Mrs. Wykoff saw a sparkle of tears along the line of her closely shut eyelids.
"Now don't stir from there until I come back," said the kind lady, and left the room. In a little while she returned, with a small waiter in her hand, containing a goblet of wine sangaree and a biscuit.
"Take this, Mary. It will do you good."
The eyes which had not been unclosed since Mrs. Wykoff went out, were all wet as Mary Carson opened them.
"Oh, you are so kind!" There was gratitude in her voice. Rising, she took the wine, and drank of it like one athirst. Then taking it from her lips, she sat, as if noting her sensations.