A Sister of the Red Cross: A Tale of the South African War. Meade L. T.

bedroom which the two girls shared. Mollie was arranging her hair before the glass, and the lace evening dress which she had worn on the previous night lay on her bed.

      "What a hurry you are in!" cried Kitty. "We have oceans of time. We need not begin to dress until seven o'clock."

      "But I must dress at once," replied Mollie.

      "Why?"

      Mollie did not answer immediately.

      "Why?" repeated Kitty, whose nerves were so strained that she could brook no suspense of any sort.

      Mollie thought quickly; then she turned and looked at her sister.

      "I will tell you," she said. "Captain Keith wants to see me for a minute or two. It is in connection with a matter which I happened to hear about when I was at Netley – a matter of which you know nothing. Dear little girl, if you are worth your salt you will not be jealous."

      Kitty's face turned very white.

      "But I am jealous," she said then, slowly. "I suppose I am not worth my salt. I am jealous – horribly so. O Mollie, don't go to him; don't, Mollie! Mollie, do stay here, for my sake."

      "I am sorry, Kitty. I have promised Captain Keith to give him a few moments, and I cannot break my word. You must trust me, and not be a goose."

      Kitty crossed the room slowly. Her very steps trembled. She reached her bed and flung herself on it. When she raised her face after a moment or two, the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

      "This is intolerable," thought Mollie. "I never could have guessed that my little sister would be so silly. The best thing I can do is to take no notice." So she checked the impulse to go up to Kitty, take her in her arms, and fuss over her and pet her, and went on with her own toilet.

      As the clock was on the stroke of seven she turned to leave the room. She had just reached the door when Kitty gave a cry.

      "Mollie," she said.

      Mollie went up to her at once.

      "Dress yourself like a good child and come down when you are ready," was her remark. "And let me say one thing: Don't be a little goose." Mollie closed the door behind her, and Kitty covered her face with her hands. She shivered.

      "Is it true?" she murmured. "Is it possible that after all these months and years, and all these hopes and all these dreams, I am doomed to see him love another, and that other my own sister? Oh, it is too cruel! It will kill me – it will drive me mad!" She clenched her hands till the nails penetrated the tender flesh. Then she opened them wide, and looked at them with self-pity.

      "It is too cruel," she said to herself. "Even now he is talking to her, telling her secrets. He never told me a secret in all his life. He has always just been the very dearest of the dear, but he has never yet told me even one secret. He has not known her twenty-four hours, and already he is confiding in her. I won't stand it. I wonder what they are talking about. Why should I not know? I have a right to know – every right. I am all but engaged to him. All my friends think that I shall marry Gavon. His own mother thinks it – I know she does. And Gavon – oh, he must, he must know what I feel for him! He must return my love! Life would be intolerable without him. If he has a grain of honour, he will engage himself to me, and soon, very soon. It is not right, therefore, that he, an almost engaged man, should tell secrets to another woman. Those secrets belong to me. Oh, how I have loved Mollie! but just now I hate her. Mollie darling, it is true – I hate you! I hate that calm face of yours, and that gentle smile, and those cool, comforting hands. And I hate your manner and the way you talk. I hate your very walk, which is so dignified and so full of confidence. You have all that I never had, and in addition you have got my pretty features, my eyes, my lips, my teeth, the same coloured hair, the same colour in your cheeks. It isn't fair, Mollie darling, it isn't fair. Life is too hard on Kitty if you take from her just the one only man she could ever love. I know what I'll do. I'll dress in a jiffy, and I'll go into the back drawing-room. I know how I can slip in – just by that door that is so seldom opened. I will stay there, and I'll hear everything. They won't look for me; but even if they do it doesn't matter, for there is that in me which – oh dear, am I mad?"

      Kitty sprang from the bed. She rushed to her washstand, poured out some hot water, laved her face and hands, and then arranging her hair with one or two quick touches she put on her black net evening dress. She was too excited to think of her usual ornaments. Her little round throat had not even a solitary string of pearls encircling it. Her arms were destitute of bracelets. She opened her door softly, and put out her head to listen. There was not a sound. The thickly carpeted passages and the stairs were empty. The first dressing gong had sounded, and there was yet quite a quarter of an hour before dinner. Catching up her skirts to prevent even the rustle of the silk as she flew downstairs, Kitty reached the drawing-room floor. She opened a door which was seldom opened; it led into the small back drawing-room, a room which in its turn opened into the conservatory. The back drawing-room was seldom lighted, except when Mrs. Keith expected company. It was quite dark now, and Kitty, agile and watchful, flung herself on a sofa in a corner, where she knew she could not be seen. She bent a little forward and listened with all her might.

      "I have told you all that I can tell you, and you understand?" said Keith.

      These were the first words that fell on her ears. Keith's voice sounded a great way off, and Kitty perceived to her consternation that her sister and Captain Keith were standing at the other end of the long drawing-room. In order not to miss a word, she was obliged to leave her first hiding-place and steal more towards the light. The couple, however, were too absorbed to notice her.

      "I have told you," repeated Keith; "you know all that is necessary now."

      "Yes," answered Mollie. Then she said, "But a half-confidence is worse than none."

      "I have good reasons for withholding the rest," was Keith's answer. "I have resolved to keep it a secret."

      "On account of – Kitty?" was Mollie's remark.

      It was received with a puzzled stare by Captain Keith. He stepped a little away from her, and then said emphatically, —

      "Yes, for Kitty's sake, and for my mother's sake. What is the matter? Why do you look at me like that?"

      "I don't believe in keeping these sort of things secret," said Mollie. "It would be very much better to make a clean breast of the whole affair. It is never wrong to tell the truth. I have always acted on that motto myself."

      "It is easy for a woman to act on it," replied Keith; "with a man things are different."

      "They ought not to be," said Mollie, with passion. "It is, I firmly believe, the right and the only right thing to do. Now you to-day – "

      "Ah, I understand; you must have thought me inconsistent. I was, doubtless, in your opinion too – cordial."

      "You certainly were."

      "I could not have done otherwise. Kitty would have been amazed. Whatever one's inclinations, one has to think of the feelings of others."

      Before Mollie could reply to this Mrs. Keith entered the room.

      "Why has not John lit the lamp in the small drawing-room?" was her first remark.

      At these words Kitty softly opened the seldom-used door and fled. She rushed to her room.

      "Now I know; now I know!" she panted. "Yes, I know everything. Mollie thought him too cordial, and he said that he did not wish to hurt my feelings, whatever his own inclinations might be. Oh, can it be possible that Mollie is false to me? But there! hearing is believing."

      The dinner gong sounded, and Kitty was forced to go downstairs. Her cheeks were bright, and she looked remarkably pretty; but her head ached badly. She sat in her accustomed place, close to Captain Keith. He began to talk to her in the light, bantering, and yet affectionate style he generally adopted when in her presence. She gave him a quick glance and shrugged her shoulders.

      "I have a headache," she said abruptly; "I would rather not speak."

      "My dear child," exclaimed Mrs. Keith, "I hope you are not going to have influenza!"

      "And I trust I am," replied Kitty, in a defiant