What measure of belief her explanation of Evelina's returnobtained in the small circle of her friends Ann Eliza did not pauseto enquire. Though she could not remember ever having told a liebefore, she adhered with rigid tenacity to the consequences of herfirst lapse from truth, and fortified her original statement withadditional details whenever a questioner sought to take herunawares.

　　But other and more serious burdens lay on her startledconscience. For the first time in her life she dimly faced theawful problem of the inutility of self-sacrifice. Hitherto she hadnever thought of questioning the inherited principles which hadguided her life. Self-effacement for the good of others had alwaysseemed to her both natural and necessary; but then she had taken itfor granted that it implied the securing of that good. Now sheperceived that to refuse the gifts of life does not ensure theirtransmission to those for whom they have been surrendered; and herfamiliar heaven was unpeopled. She felt she could no longer trustin the goodness of God, and there was only a black abyss above theroof of Bunner Sisters.

　　But there was little time to brood upon such problems. Thecare of Evelina filled Ann Eliza's days and nights. The hastilysummoned doctor had pronounced her to be suffering from pneumonia,and under his care the first stress of the disease was relieved.

　　But her recovery was only partial, and long after the doctor'svisits had ceased she continued to lie in bed, too weak to move,and seemingly indifferent to everything about her.

　　At length one evening, about six weeks after her return, shesaid to her sister: "I don't feel's if I'd ever get up again."Ann Eliza turned from the kettle she was placing on the stove.

　　She was startled by the echo the words woke in her own breast.

　　"Don't you talk like that, Evelina! I guess you're on'y tiredout--and disheartened.""Yes, I'm disheartened," Evelina murmured.

　　A few months earlier Ann Eliza would have met the confessionwith a word of pious admonition; now she accepted it in silence.

　　"Maybe you'll brighten up when your cough gets better," shesuggested.

　　"Yes--or my cough'll get better when I brighten up," Evelinaretorted with a touch of her old tartness.

　　"Does your cough keep on hurting you jest as much?""I don't see's there's much difference.""Well, I guess I'll get the doctor to come round again," AnnEliza said, trying for the matter-of-course tone in which one mightspeak of sending for the plumber or the gas-fitter.

　　"It ain't any use sending for the doctor--and who's going topay him?""I am," answered the elder sister. "Here's your tea, and amite of toast. Don't that tempt you?"Already, in the watches of the night, Ann Eliza had beentormented by that same question--who was to pay the doctor?--and afew days before she had temporarily silenced it by borrowing twentydollars of Miss Mellins. The transaction had cost her one of thebitterest struggles of her life. She had never borrowed a penny ofany one before, and the possibility of having to do so had alwaysbeen classed in her mind among those shameful extremities to whichProvidence does not let decent people come. But nowadays she nolonger believed in the personal supervision of Providence; and hadshe been compelled to steal the money instead of borrowing it, shewould have felt that her conscience was the only tribunal beforewhich she had to answer. Nevertheless, the actual humiliation ofhaving to ask for the money was no less bitter; and she couldhardly hope that Miss Mellins would view the case with the samedetachment as herself. Miss Mellins was very kind; but she notunnaturally felt that her kindness should be rewarded by accordingher the right to ask questions; and bit by bit Ann Eliza sawEvelina's miserable secret slipping into the dress-maker'spossession.

　　When the doctor came she left him alone with Evelina, busyingherself in the shop that she might have an opportunity of seeinghim alone on his way out. To steady herself she began to sort atrayful of buttons, and when the doctor appeared she was recitingunder her breath: "Twenty-four horn, two and a half cards fancypearl . . ." She saw at once that his look was grave.

　　He sat down on the chair beside the counter, and her mindtravelled miles before he spoke.

　　"Miss Bunner, the best thing you can do is to let me get a bedfor your sister at St. Luke's.""The hospital?""Come now, you're above that sort of prejudice, aren't you?"The doctor spoke in the tone of one who coaxes a spoiled child. "Iknow how devoted you are--but Mrs. Ramy can be much better caredfor there than here. You really haven't time to look after her andattend to your business as well. There'll be no expense, youunderstand--"Ann Eliza made no answer. "You think my sister's going to besick a go............