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 breathless from her efforts to smother a laugh.

"Is it possible?" cried Juliet, in great amazement. "Miss Pierson! I thought you were ill in bed?"

No further efforts were necessary to repress the laugh; resentment, rather than gravity, took its place, and, with pouting lips, and a frowning brow, she answered, "Ill? Yes! I have had enough to make me ill, that's sure! It's more a wonder, by half, that I a'n't dead; for I cried so that my eyes grew quite little; and I looked quite a fright; and I grew so hoarse that nobody could tell a word I said; though I talked enough, I'm sure; for nothing can hinder me of my talking, if it was never so, papa says."

Juliet, now, upon closer enquiry, learnt that Flora had neither had a fever, nor desired a meeting, and that Mrs. Pierson had neither written the letter, nor given any orders about a return post-chaise.

The passing suspicions, which already had occurred to Juliet in disfavour of