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It was late in the afternoon when Lida heard of the illness of her friend, and with the compassion of one whose heart is filled with love she hurried to her friend's room. Love chastens some persons causing them to feel more deeply the sufferings of others, and it has such an effect on some of those in love that they feel more tenderly toward all suffering. True love, by reflection, so radiates itself that its effects are felt on those even not the direct object of that love. It was so with Lida. She was so completely in love herself that the intoxication of it expanded to take in those about her. It was in this gentle, expanding mood that she approached the door of Louise Comstock's room, turned the knob softly so as not to disturb the girl if she was sleeping and tiptoed gently in and toward the bed.

Menacing calmness had succeeded the spasms of weeping and the paroxysms of grief that had racked the girl's body and mind for the past twenty-four hours and she lay, quiet on her pillow, eyes half closed revolving in her mind a new determination, the idea of which had come to her but shortly before and had given her the relief her emotions needed. Her face was still twisted as if from pain, thus taking on a new aspect, new to the Louise Comstock her companions had known till then. There was something almost diabolic in the smile that saved her face from distortion completely.

Lida approached the bed and was about to speak when