'Why do you not have something pleasanter to look at, Phoebe ?--some flowers, or a canary?
you would find plenty of amusement in watching a canary.' 'Birds are never still for a moment; they would drive me mad,' returned Phoebe, in the hollow tones that seemed natural to her.

'Flowers are better; but what have I to do with flowers?
Doctor,' her voice rising into a shrill crescendo, 'you must give me something to send me to sleep, or I shall go mad.

I think, think, think, until my head is in a craze with pain and misery.' 'Well, well, we will see about it,' humouring her as though she were a child.

'Will you not speak to this lady, Phoebe?
She has come down here to help us all,--sick people, and unhappy people, and every one that wants help.' 'She can't do anything for me,' muttered Phoebe restlessly; 'no one--not even you, doctor, can do anything for me.

I am doomed,--doomed before my time.' Mr.Hamilton looked at me meaningly, as though to say, 'Now you see what you have to do: this is more your work than mine.' I obeyed the hint, and accosted the sick woman as cheerfully as though her dismal speech had not curdled my blood.
'I hope I shall be some comfort to you; it is hard indeed if no one can help you, when you have so much to bear!' 'To bear!' repeating my words as though they stung her.