Foxglove Manor, Volume III by Robert W. Buchanan

For several days after that meeting, it seemed to Mrs. Russell that Edith was sickening for a fever. Edith herself was afraid that the terrible trial through which she had passed, was likely to have serious results. In her agony, the girl prayed to die; but for her there was no such mercy. At the end of a few days the ominous symptoms had passed away, and Edith was almost herself again. No doctor had been sent for. Mrs. Russell in her anxiety, was eager for him to see her niece; but Edith, driven almost distracted at the thought, had refused so-decidedly to see him that her Aunt had yielded, and had promised to put off sending to him for a few days. At the end of a few days Edith was better, so no message was sent, and the doctor never came.

So the time wore on. Winter had fairly set in, and everybody in the village was making preparations for Christmas, Mrs. Russell following the fashion of all the rest. From morning till night she was herself employed with the maid in the kitchen, chopping up mincemeat, and preparing various other dainties for Christmas fare. But her kindly face was troubled; she was always thinking of Edith, who was so sadly changed. The illness which had been so much dreaded, had passed away, it is true, but something almost as pitiable had been left in its place. The girl looked pale and worn, and old before her time. She never crossed the threshold, but sat at-home day after day, shivering over the fire, and when questioned by her aunt, she merely said --