"You ought to make them!"
"Never—never!" she repeated. "Never!"
"I confess I don't," I replied, with a kind of angry renunciation. I played louder, with the passion of my uneasiness and the aggravation of my responsibility.
"No, you don't indeed," said Louisa Chantry.
I had only to accept this disadvantage, and after a moment I went on: "What became of Mr. Brandon?"
"I don't know."
"Did he go away?"
"That same evening."
"Which same evening?"
"The day you were there. I never saw him again."
I was silent a minute, then I risked: "And you never will, eh?"
"Never—never!"
"Then why shouldn't you get better?"
She also hesitated, after which she answered, "Because I'm going to die."
My music ceased in spite of me and we sat looking at each other. Helen Chantry woke up with a little start and asked what
