at our table, I could not be merry with her, because it still sounded in my ears.
After our dinner was over, Bernard and Juliet went into the parlor, because we were afraid to have the baby out after the dew might have begun to fall, and I drew the wicker chair close to the window, so that we made a group although I sat out on the porch. And it was then Bernard took twenty dollars out of his pocket, and told Juliet that there was the reason for her moans.
"If you will give it to me," she said, "I will groan or laugh, just as you wish."
"Oh, you shall have it," he answered, "every cent of it, for heaven only knows when I can give you any more, because my country needs me no longer."
We were a little dismayed at this news, because Bernard's salary was of the utmost importance in drawing together the ends which must meet, but we cheered up and felt confident about the future, for we had thus far lived plainly and with care, and had been comfortable and independent, and as for the work we did in earning the money, neither Bernard nor I shrank from that. All he wanted was to make us happy and to relieve me from any need to work. But I liked to feel that my shoulder was helping to run the wheel, although I was often tired and would have been glad to command my time.
This loss of money was only the beginning of the cyclone of misery that swept through our lives. That very night the baby sickened with diphtheria, and in less than a week she was dead, and Juliet lay very ill with the same disease, with the doctor looking seriously enough as he watched her.
As soon as it was known what the disease was, our little maid went away, and Bernard and I were left alone in the house. I could not give my lessons, even had we had a nurse, because parents would have been afraid of contagion, therefore, as the season was nearly over, I stopped them all, and collected what money was owing to me. Bernard nursed Juliet through the day, and we relieved each other at night, but I had to go alone with the undertaker and minister when the baby was buried. Here is misery enough in a few lines, but it came like a storm, sudden and quick, and I have no memory of it that needs the telling in greater detail.
Duncan Macfarlane was in Nevada, and our other friends were afraid to do more than call at the door, inquire, and go away relieved when I told them there was nothing they could do. It was reported that Juliet's case was of the most malignant form, and this frightened the people. But, because we could not yield, Bernard and I kept up our courage, hard as it was when we saw how fast our little store of money was going and knew that there was no more in waiting. We never told Juliet of the frugal meals we ate down-stairs, and she little guessed the perplexities into which the rent, the gas-bill, the undertaker's bill, and all the expenses of life and death were plunging us. But as she grew better, and came down-stairs, she began to comprehend it, and all her troubles together made her depressed, and it was hard to keep up her heart, or to get her beyond a point where her convalescence
