child." Salwa hurried to her father and called to him as she used to, but he ordered her, in a tone with something of harshness and anger in it, to keep away from him now, for he was busy with the patient.

"Salwa" went out, going over what her father had said to her and feeling the cruelty of those words. She felt that everything was frowning upon her, and that she was no longer that pampered, indulged darling; the house appeared to her like one of those desolate, ruined dwellings she had heard of in her grandmother's magic tales, and these people seemed nothing but troubling... frightening specters moving about in it. She went down to the garden and did not find it smiling as she had always known it; it seemed to her that the birds were keening... and the roses weeping... even her little cat had gone quiet and feigned sleep, her food neglected for the sake of the little patient.

Night settled with its pitch dark-ness, and "Salwa" slipped into her room, sad... wounded, and lay down on her bed, moaning and weeping. The night, with its depth, its stillness, and its secrets, was desolate... dismal... dreadful, sending into the child's soul a fear that made her limbs tremble and her knees knock, while a wave of bitter cold ran through her body. The doves of slumber hovered about her burn-ing eyelids, left raw by weeping, then drew away and came again; a light doze would take her, from which she would wake in terror at some sudden thought.

"Salwa" went on thinking, in pain and revolt, and her broad imagination — the imagination of children of her age — drew for her manifold pictures and varied shadows; she suffered... then hoped. A wave of joy would seize her... then a deep sadness take hold of her... until at last she dis-covered that this "little one" was the source of her misery. If he

died, she would once more have her father's love and tenderness to herself, and would return to her former life, since these galling events would cease, and she would again be her father's only daughter, receiving everyone's attention. But how was he to die? She kept straining her mind with all manner of questions, sounding it for the outcome, until it seemed to her that she had found the final solution...

"Salwa" waited until every move-ment in the house had stilled and everyone slept; then she stole, light as a rabbit, out of her room, while silence wrapped the world... and the silver rays of the moon poured down on her small face, which looked pale... drawn, with something strange upon it. She reached the "little one's" room and found him asleep, sweet dreams hovering about his lips so that he smiled at them with the meekness of the angels; and she found his mother, worn out with watching, sunk in a deep sleep on a couch nearby. Salwa's hands trembled, her pupils widened, and an obscure feeling came over her; then she gathered her courage, and without thinking took the medicine bottle and began pour-ing draughts of it into the "little one's" mouth; and when she was sure he had swallowed it, she hurried back.

She reached her room trembling, her body streaming with sweat, her hands rigid. Here she felt a deep, vague, delicious relief; she lay down in the bed and gave herself up to a long sleep such as she had not enjoyed for an age... And she saw, as the sleeper sees, a distant specter which seemed to her to be her mother; the specter kept drawing nearer, and her heartbeats kept mounting, until at last she made out her mother. But she was not in the accustomed calm that Salwa knew, and she had turned her face away from her. The child cried out from the depths of her heart, calling her: "Beloved

Mother!" The mother turned, a great tear glistening in her clear eyes, and looked at her daughter with a deep look that pierced to the secrets of her heart, and said in a voice like a whisper: "Woe to you, Salwa! What have you done? You have killed your little brother! Is it thus that your tender... little... heart fills with jealousy and envy? Is it thus that Salwa, the loving daughter, is transformed?... Are these the morals I planted in your soul and suckled you upon with my milk? I shall not visit you in your dreams after today... nor listen to your ardent calls. No, Salwa! God will not forgive you; your prayer will not reach Him in the morning, nor will He accept your accus-tomed supplication at evening."

The specter vanished, murmur-ing: "Lord, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Then a fierce light flashed before the child's eyes, upon which she

The New Chen Yu

CHEN YU

• Keeps its quality a long time

• Dries quickly

• Its colors are magically alluring

• Its new brush makes it easy to apply

For fingertips and for lips