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“I’ll do well enough through the day, Ellen,” replied Margaret, though her feeble voice and languid manner told too plainly that she could not do very well at any time. “You know that our rent will be due in two weeks, and that you haven’t yet got enough to pay it.”

“That is very true,” said Ellen, somewhat sadly. “Anyhow, I’ll go to Mrs. Condy’s, and will think about the matter.”

After dressing herself, Ellen insisted that her sister should lie down. She then placed a small table close to the bed, upon which was set a few articles of food, and a vial of cough medicine. After charging Margaret to keep very quiet, and to try to sleep, she turned upon her a look of deep and yearning affection, and then hurried away.

The sight of Ellen, and the necessary allusion to the recent afflicting loss, caused the tears of the mother and sisters to flow afresh. But these were soon dried up, and so much were the minds of each interested in the idea of the mourning dresses, and in the necessary directions to be given, that few traces of the real affliction which had wrung their hearts remained, for the time, perceptible. The orders received by Ellen were promptly filled at the store where the family usually purchased their dry-goods, and the various articles sent home. The bundles arrived about the same time that Ellen returned. Then came a careful examination of the shades of colour and quality of the goods. These proving satisfactory, Jane said–

“And now, Ellen, mother’s dress, and Mary’s, and mine must be done this week. We’ll all help you. Mary and I can make the skirts and bind cord for you, and do a good deal on the dresses. You can get them done, easily enough?”

“Indeed, Miss Jane,” replied Ellen, and her voice was not steady, “I hardly know what to say. Sister is worse than she has ever been; and I don’t see how I can leave her alone. She coughs terribly; and is so weak, that she can only sit up a little while. She has failed very fast within a week.”

“But you know this is a case particularly pressing,” said Mrs. Condy. “There seems to be no help for it. There is no one we can get but you, now; and you know we give you all our sewing, and depend on you. Lucy says that Margaret is willing to have you come, and says that she can get on very well.”

Ellen paused a moment or two, and then replied, with an expression of sadness in her voice–“I will make the dresses for you, Mrs. Condy, but you must all help me as much as you can, so that I can get home every evening. It won’t do to let Margaret be alone all night, for her cough is much worse in the evening, and before day in the morning.”

Neither Mrs. Condy nor her daughters replied to this. Mentally, they deemed it impossible for Ellen to go home at night. But they did not wish to say so. It was Wednesday, and all the afternoon was consumed in cutting, fitting, and basting the dresses. Night came, and Ellen, after tea, prepared to go home. Some slight objection was made; but she was resolute. It was some time after dark when she came in sight of her chamber window. It showed that there was no light within. Instantly she sprang forward, and soon bounded up the stairs and into the room.

“Margaret!–How are you, Margaret?” she said, pressing up to the bedside, and putting her hand upon the forehead of her sister. It was cold and clammy. A violent fit of coughing prevented a reply. A light was obtained in a few minutes, and showed the countenance of Margaret slightly distorted from difficult breathing, and her forehead perceptibly corrugated.

“You are worse, sister!” exclaimed Ellen, kissing her damp forehead.