There was no doubt that Cissy was dying. Yet at no time did she seem alarmingly ill. She did not even cough a great deal. Most days she was able to get up and dress — sometimes even to work about in the garden or the barrens for an hour or two. For a few weeks after Valancy’s coming she seemed so much better that Valancy began to hope she might get well. But Cissy shook her head.

“No, I can’t get well. My lungs are almost gone. And I — don’t want to. I’m so tired, Valancy. Only dying can rest me. But it’s lovely to have you here — you’ll never know how much it means to me. But Valancy — you work too hard. You don’t need to — Father only wants his meals cooked. I don’t think you are strong yourself. You turn so pale sometimes. And those drops you take. Are you well, dear?”