Floy came down to breakfast with a violent headache. She said nothing about it, but her look of suffering and want of appetite did not escape Hetty’s watchful eye, and made her more determined than ever to come speedily to the rescue.

The opportunity offered shortly after the conclusion of the meal. Leaving her mother and Patsy to clear it away, Hetty hurried into the store. It was still too early to open, but there were accounts to be looked over and things to be set right before she would be ready for customers.

She had not been there long when Mrs. Sharp came in with the over-skirt she had helped Floy to finish the night before.

“See, Hetty, what do you think of this?” she asked, with a pleased look. “Some of Miss Kemper’s work. She really has a wonderful amount of taste.”

“Yes, I think so; it’s perfectly lovely, Aunt Prue; you never had an apprentice before, or a journey-woman either, for that matter, who could trim half so prettily or had so many original ideas about it.”

Mrs. Sharp assented, shaking out the dress and gazing admiringly upon it as she turned it this way and that to note the effect.

“Yes,” she said complacently, “we’ve secured a real treasure in her, and I never shall regret having consented to take her.”

“She’s worth taking care of.”

“Of course she is, Hetty; but what do you mean by that?” asked the aunt sharply.

“That she isn’t getting sleep enough, or fresh air or exercise enough; that this work, work, work, from early morning until late at night, is breaking down her health, and we’ll have to manage differently as far as she’s concerned, or we’ll have her dying on our hands.”

“Dear me, Het,” in a vexed tone, “you have a way of putting things so strongly, and in such a sudden fashion too, that I declare it nearly knocks one down! She’s no more overworked than you or I.”

“Perhaps not; but we’re used to it, and naturally stronger, I think. Besides, we don’t sit so steadily, but are here and there, all over the house, and in and out too, shopping or marketing.”

“Well, it can’t be helped while we’re so driven with work.”

“Better spare her for an hour or two every day now than lose her services for weeks or maybe altogether.”

Mrs. Sharp tossed the dress on to the counter and sat down with her hands folded in her lap. For a moment she seemed lost in thought, her countenance expressing a good deal of annoyance.

“I generally send Annie Jones home with finished work,” she said presently, “because she’s not good for much else; but if Miss Kemper is really in such pressing need of air and exercise, she may take that duty sometimes. I don’t believe, though, that she’ll be willing; she is too high in her notions.”

“She is a lady, and would of course feel it somewhat of a trial to her pride,” said Hetty, “but I believe she is too sensible and right-minded to refuse, when it’s so necessary for her health.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

Floy was called and the question laid before her.

The result was as Hetty had predicted—an evident struggle with pride, then a thankful acceptance of the offer. Health was far too valuable to be lightly thrown away, and—ah, how many strange faces would present themselves to her view in the houses to which she was sent, on the sidewalks, and in the street-cars, and who could tell that the one she so longed to find might not be among them!

It was assigned to her to carry home the work she had completed the night before, and when the late hour arrived at which a fashionable lady might be supposed ready to receive such a call she set out upon the by no means agreeable errand.

The air was keen and cold, but the sun shone brightly, and she found her walk of some half dozen squares bracing and enjoyable.

It was to a very handsome residence in a fashionable quarter of the city that she had been sent.

The servant who answered her ring left her standing in the hall while he carried away the package she had brought. Presently he returned with a request that she would follow it.

“Miss Carrie wants you to see it tried on, so’s you can fix it if ’tain’t all right,” he said.

He led her up a flight of marble stairs, broad and low, with an elegantly-carved balustrade, and over softly-carpeted floors to a richly-furnished boudoir, where three young girls, in elegant morning dresses, lounged upon the sofas, taking their ease as though life had no serious duties for them and time were given only to be frittered away.

Floy was conscious that the three pairs of eyes were levelled at her on her entrance, but bore the ordeal with quiet dignity.

“Ah, you’re the young person sent from Mrs. Sharp’s, I presume?” said one, laying aside a novel. “I’m glad she didn’t disappoint me. Will you please undo it?” pointing to the parcel lying on an ottoman. “I must try it on and let you see that it’s all right before you go.”

She spoke as if addressing a menial, and Floy’s cheek burned; but she silently did as requested.

The wrappings were removed, and in a moment all three of the young ladies had started to their feet with exclamations of “Lovely!” “Charming!” “Exquisite!”

“I shall run into the next room and put it on!” cried the owner.

“And I’ll help you, Carrie,” said one of the others.

“No, no, Bell, thank you! you and Laura stay here and let me burst in upon you in full bloom,” she answered laughingly. “But you may come,” nodding graciously to Floy. “I’ll need your assistance. I’ll carry this lovely over-skirt; you may bring the rest.”

The bedroom to which she conducted Floy was, in the richness and luxury of its furnishing, quite in keeping with the boudoir.

The change of dress was quickly made, Floy adjusting the rich folds of the new gown, and making one or two little alterations in the looping or the position of the flowers to suit the taste of the wearer.

“Wait here a moment while I show myself to my friends,” said the latter when all was done.

She sailed away into the adjoining room, and Floy heard the exclamations.

“Oh, charming, Carrie!”

“And so becoming! I declare, Cal, even Espy Alden would find you irresistible in that!”

“Why not say Will? he’s to be here next week—coming home with Fred to spend the holidays. They’re college chums, you know.”

The light, joyous laugh that accompanied the words seemed to say that she considered him as already secured.

Floy heard it all, and a pang shot through her heart.

Espy Alden! her own Espy! it could be no other, for it was no common name.

Faint, giddy, sick at heart, trembling in every limb, she dropped into a chair and hid her face in her hands. She thought she had resigned him, yet oh, what anguish that another should have won her place in his heart!

No tears came to her burning eyes, but she was half frightened at the pallor of her face as, on raising her head again, she caught sight of it in a mirror on the opposite wall. She hastily drew down her veil to hide it.

The talk was going on in the next room, and every word came distinctly to her ear.

“What’s he like?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen him, Bell? There, what do you think of him? It’s not a bit flattered; is it, Laura?”

“No; don’t do him justice. No photograph could, for he’s much handsomer when he’s talking and laughing than when his face is at rest.”

“That’s so, and he’s a splendid talker; quite an artist too, Fred says. But now tell me if you think all these flowers are disposed to the very best advantage.”

The rest of the chat was about the dress, and fell utterly unheeded upon Floy’s ear.

An artist, so handsome, so good a conversationist—it could be no other than her own Espy—hers from her very babyhood. And this girl had his likeness—no doubt given by himself. What could it mean if not that they were betrothed? Well, what right had she to blame him? None, none, for she had voluntarily resigned him; and yet, and yet—oh, her heart was like to break!

“What’s the matter? are you ill?” she heard a voice asking at her side—the voice of the girl who had won him from her.

“Yes,” she answered faintly, “I—I’ve been up very late for several nights; work is so pressing just now, and I rose this morning with a terrible headache.”

“Ah, that’s too bad! I wouldn’t be a dressmaker for anything in the world. Well, I suppose you’d like to go, and there is no need for you to stay any longer. Tell Mrs. Sharp I’m delighted with the dress. Have you the bill with you?”

Floy produced it, receipted and signed; the money was paid, and she took her departure.

The keen, frosty air was no longer refreshing as she retraced her steps; it seemed rather to chill her to the very bones.

Hetty had asked her to come in through the store. Some customers were just passing out as she reached the door. Hetty glanced toward her on her entrance.

“Why, how dreadfully you look!” she exclaimed. “I haven’t managed right. I shouldn’t have let you go for such a walk when you’d eaten hardly a mouthful of breakfast.”

She threw an arm about Floy’s waist as she spoke, and drew her into a small room back of the store, where the making and trimming of bonnets was carried on. Several girls were working busily at the end nearest the window.

“Sit down here by the register and warm yourself,” said Hetty, gently forcing Floy into a large arm-chair.

“No, no, I must go up to the work-room at once,” answered the weary, half-fainting girl; “you know all hands are needed—”

“You’ll just sit there till you’re well warmed and have had a cup of tea,” said Hetty with authority. “The Thorne is but just done his breakfast; there’s a good fire in the kitchen, and—I’ll be back in two seconds. Don’t you dare to move till I come.” And shaking her finger threateningly, she rushed away through a door opening into the dining-room.

Her promise was not fulfilled to the letter, but scarce five minutes had elapsed when she returned with a cup of fragrant tea and two or three slices of thin, daintily browned and buttered toast, all fresh from the fire.

The tray, covered with a snowy napkin, was quickly placed on a stand close at Floy’s side, and Hetty ordered her, in a tone of good-humored authority, to eat and drink.

She tried to speak her thanks, but her lip trembled and tears came instead of words.

“There, now, my dear, don’t emulate the folly of Oliver Twist over his water-gruel,” said Hetty jocosely. “I think you’ll find this fare somewhat more tempting than his; but salt water won’t improve it. You see,” bending low and speaking in a whisper, “I’ve cribbed a little from the store of dainties provided for the Thorne and served it upon part of my own breakfast set, generally reserved for high days and holidays. Now I must leave you, for there’s a customer,” and she hurried into the store.

The fragrance of the tea was appetizing. Floy tasted it, then broke off a bit of the toast, and presently discovered that, whatever might have been the original cause of her headache, an empty stomach had not a little to do with it now.

The slight refreshment made it possible to force herself to work, though in other and happier days she would have been deemed too ill for any place but bed.

The pain in the head was partially relieved, but that of the heart remained unassuaged; and though it cost a painful effort, it was perhaps well for her that she was compelled to give her mind to the details of her employment, cutting, fitting, and trimming through all the long hours of the day and evening, till nature was so thoroughly exhausted that sleep came the moment she lay down to her rest, two hours earlier than on the previous night—the result of Hetty’s kindly interposition.

It was the same through the remainder of the week; every day some errand to take her out for a breath of fresh air, every night an hour or two added to her time for rest; also her bed was removed to a warmer and purer atmosphere, Mrs. Goodenough and Hetty taking her into their room, which was heated by a furnace in the cellar and was better ventilated than the crowded room overhead.

Floy was very grateful, especially when the added luxury of some degree of privacy was given her by the kindness of Mrs. Goodenough in curtaining off the corner where her bed was placed.

The beneficial effect of these changes was soon apparent in Floy’s increased appetite and brighter looks.

On the ensuing Sabbath she felt herself able to go to church, which had been the case only once before since her coming to the city, all the other Sundays finding her so worn out with the week’s work as to be compelled to spend the day in sleeping off her exhaustion.

She went alone; and not wishing to attract observation, slipped quietly into a pew near the door.

The services had not yet begun, and her thoughts had flown far away to the dear ones worshipping in the upper sanctuary, when suddenly they were recalled to earth. A rustle of silk, and three gayly-dressed young girls swept up the aisle closely followed by two young men, the foremost, Espy Alden, stepping so close in passing that she could easily have laid her hand upon his arm.

Her heart gave a wild bound as she recognized him, but he did not see her.

She said to herself she was glad of it, yet it pained her to her heart’s core. Had he no eyes for any one but Miss Carrie Lea? Surely if his heart were loyal as of yore to his first love, he would have felt her presence near. It had seemed ever so in those earlier days.

He sat where she could see his side face, and many a furtive glance fed her hunger for the old love, a consuming fire that pride—her woman’s pride—vainly strove to trample out. Ah, it was the only earthly love left her, and it had been so sweet!