“Rose, my dear!” said the elder lady.

Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as though the words had roused her from some painful thoughts.

“Rose, my love!” cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily, and bending over her. “What is this? In tears! My dear child, what distresses you?”

“Nothing, aunt; nothing,” replied the young lady. “I don’t know what it is; I can’t describe it; but I feel⁠—”

“Not ill, my love?” interposed Mrs. Maylie.

“No, no! Oh, not ill!” replied Rose: shuddering as though some deadly chillness were passing over her, while she spoke; “I shall be better presently. Close the window, pray!”