"Is there no help for it ?" I pushed back my work, drew my hand over my eyes, (I did not need to make it tremble) and glanced up.

"No," said I with a shake of my head, "but it is not always so bad.

I beg your pardon, miss, if it disturbs you." She threw back the shawl which she had held drawn tightly over her head, and advanced with an easy gliding step close to my side.

"You do not disturb me, but my father is--is, well a trifle cross sometimes, and if he should speak up a little harsh now and then, you must not mind.

I am sorry you are so ill." What is there in some women's look, some women's touch that more than all beauty goes to the heart and subdues it.