The Wall Between

  CHAPTER XIII

  MELVINY ARRIVES

  When Lucy descended to the kitchen she was surprised to be confronted byJane Howe.

  "Martin told us your aunt was sick, so I came over to see what I coulddo," said the visitor softly. "I reckon you're all up in a heap. Sicknessmakes a sight of trouble. I know what it is 'cause I've had it. Let metake right hold and put the kitchen to rights for you."

  The words were hearty with sincerity, and the woman's intention ofrendering neighborly assistance genuine, for she promptly produced a largepinafore from under her arm and proceeded to put it on.

  "You're just as good as you can be," Lucy exclaimed. "But indeed Icouldn't think of letting you do my work, especially on such a hot day asthis."

  "Why not? Didn't I just tell you I came to help? If you wasn't to let melend a hand when you were in a tight place, I'd feel it warn't kind ofyou," protested Jane, aggrieved. "Fetch the broom, an' I'll go straight tosweepin' up. My, but you have a fine big kitchen here, haven't you?"

  As she rolled up her sleeves she glanced about.

  "It's a monstrous house though," she went on a minute later. "You'll neverbe able to do all there'll be to do now, unless you have help. Let alonethe work, you never can manage to lift your aunt by yourself. I reckonyou'll have to send for Melviny Grey."

  "And who, pray, is she?"

  "Melviny? Ain't you never heard of Melviny?"

  Jane regarded Lucy with astonishment.

  "No."

  "Oh, well, that's because you warn't born and raised here," she explained."Why, Melviny's one of the institutions of Sefton Falls. Nothin' goes onin the way of tribulation without Melviny bein' to it."

  "Oh, I see. She's a nurse."

  "No, you couldn't really call her that," replied Jane thoughtfully. "An'still I don't know but you might as well tag her that way as any. 'Twouldbe hard to tell just what Melviny is. She ain't only a nurse, 'causeshe's a dressmaker; an' she ain't exactly a dressmaker, 'cause she makesbonnets; besides that she cleans house for folks, puts up pickles, andtends all the new babies. Melviny's just a sort of present help in time oftrouble."

  Lucy smiled.

  "I believe, too, she ain't busy just now--not more'n ordinarily busy, Imean," Jane hastened to add quickly. "As I remember it, the Bartons'baby's just come, an' the Wheeler one ain't due yet; so I guess Melviny'syours for the askin'. An' if you can get her, you'll have a whole team."

  "I don't know whether Aunt Ellen----" began Lucy uneasily, but Janeinterrupted her:

  "Oh, it ain't to be expected your aunt will want her," she cut inserenely. "She won't want anybody. 'Twill drive her well-nigh crazy tothink of spendin' the money. But 'tain't right for you to try to do allthere is to be done alone, an' you mustn't undertake it. Just go rightahead an' get somebody in, whether your aunt likes it or not. That's theway I'd do if it was Martin. Besides, 'tain't as if Melviny was different.She fits in anywhere. She warn't ever known not to. She asks no questionsan' has got no opinions. She just sorter goes along as if she was walkin'in her sleep, turnin' neither to the right nor to the left. Whatever houseshe's in, it's all the same to her. I believe she'd jog up to a patientwith a breakfast tray if the stairs was burnin' under her. Nothin' movesher."

  There was a rippling laugh from Lucy.

  "We'd have to have somebody like that," she said.

  "You certainly would," agreed Jane. "That's why I feel Melviny's just theone for you."

  "It is so good of you to be interested."

  "Bless your heart, I reckon the whole town's interested in Miss Websterbein' took down," confessed Jane naively. "But I don't deserve no creditfor this plan; 'twas Martin's idea."

  "Mar--your brother's?"

  "Yes. Martin's awful upset 'bout your aunt bein' sick," announced Jane."He must 'a' heard it in the village when he was there this mornin', forthe minute he got back he sent me over to urge you to get somebody in.'Course he wouldn't come himself. That would be too much to expect. But heactually said that if you decided to fetch Melviny he'd go and gether--an' from him that means a heap. I 'most fell over backwards when hesuggested it, for you know how Martin feels toward your aunt."

  Lucy nodded in confusion. She had an uncomfortable sense that she was notbeing quite frank with Jane.

  "Martin would do 'bout anything for you, Miss Lucy," the woman asserted ina sudden burst of confidence. "I----"

  A cry from upstairs cut short the sentence.

  "Lucy!"

  "Yes, Aunt Ellen, I'll be right there."

  "Go right up: I'll finish things here," whispered Jane hurriedly. "All is,if you want Martin to go for Melviny, you have only to say the word. Youcan wave a handkerchief out of the window, an' he'll understand."

  "Where does Miss Grey----"

  "For the land sake don't call her that. Nobody'd know who you meant, an'she wouldn't, either."

  "Well, Melviny, then--where does she live?"

  "Down in the valley--King's Hollow, they call it."

  "Why, it's miles!" protested Lucy in dismay. "I can't send your brotherway down there. He's been doing nothing but errands all day."

  "I know it," Jane replied. "He's been to town twice already. He came homethis noon with a load of grain an' then changed horses an' went right backto the village again 'cause he forgot something. Likely you noticed himdrivin' past."

  The girl colored before Jane's friendly glance. She longed to tell thewhole truth, for by nature she was a person of great frankness. Since,however, Martin had not seen fit to enlighten his sisters, perhaps it waswiser that she should not do so. He may have had his own reasons forkeeping them in ignorance.

  "Lucy!"

  "Yes, I'm coming, Aunt Ellen."

  "Do go along," implored Jane; "she may suspect something. I'll leave thehouse all picked up, tidy as a pin. You won't forget to wave to Martin ifyou want him."

  "No. Thank you a thousand times, Ja--Miss Howe."

  "Jane'll do," smiled the woman kindly. "I'm more used to it."

  Catching her visitor's hand in a quick grasp, Lucy pressed it warmly andthen sped up the stairs.

  "Whatever have you been putterin' about so long?" queried Ellenpetulantly.

  "I was clearing up."

  "That's good. I guess the place needed it," sighed her aunt. "I warn'thalf through straightenin' things in the kitchen. I thought I heard youtalkin'."

  "Heard me?"

  "Probably 'twas a notion. My head kinder buzzes." Then she suddenly turnedsuspiciously on the girl, adding sharply:

  "You ain't been over to the Howes'?"

  "No."

  "That's right. An' don't you go, neither. We don't need no help fromthem."

  A pause followed.

  "Did you want me for something?" Lucy at last inquired, after waiting forher aunt to speak.

  "Yes, I did."

  Nevertheless Ellen made no further remark for some time. Finally she burstout fretfully:

  "I'm almighty afraid I'll have to hire in somebody, after all."

  The last two words were peculiarly illuminating.

  "You mean somebody to help?"

  "Yes," grumbled the older woman with peevish shrillness. "We've got a pullahead of us; I know that well enough. An' I s'pose you ain't got enoughmuscle to lift me. Likely you couldn't even raise me up on the pillows ifyou was to try. How you ever got me upstairs beats all."

  Lucy hastily turned her head aside.

  "They do say, though," continued Ellen, "that sometimes when folks arescat to death they can do things they can't do any other time. You werescat, I s'pose."

  "Yes, I was."

  "Mebbe you was scat worse when you found I warn't dead," chuckled the sickwoman disagreeably.

  The girl did not reply. Ellen paused; then seemed to regret her illhumor.

  "Now 'bout a woman----" She halted abruptly.

  "Have you any one in mind?" Lucy asked timidly.

  "No," returned Ellen emphatically, "I haven't. I hate all the folks inthis town about e
qually--that is, all except the Howes," she concludedwith significant emphasis.

  "Isn't there a nurse in the village?"

  "There's Melviny Grey."

  "Is she a nurse?" the girl inquired innocently.

  "Melviny ain't never been classified," retorted Ellen grimly. "She'sneither fish, flesh nor fowl. She's taught school; laid out the dead; an'done the Lord only knows what durin' her lifetime. She can turn her handto most anything; an' they do say she's mum as an oyster, which is avirtue out of the common in a woman."

  "Suppose I see if we can get her?" suggested Lucy.

  "Well," returned Ellen, with a reluctant groan, "I reckon you'll have to.You can send Tony for her when he gets back, though how he'll find her Idon't know. You might's well hunt for a needle in a haystack as to trackdown Melviny. She's liable to be most anywheres tendin' babies or trimmin'bunnits; an' Tony's such a numskull."

  "I guess we can locate her."

  "Well, pack him off anyhow, the minute he gets home; an' tell him not todo any unnecessary travelin', an' to keep where the ground is smooth ifhe can. There's no use wearin' out Dolly's new shoes by trapesin' over thestones in 'em the first thing. Don't be afraid to speak up good and sharpto Tony. He's used to it an' understands it better. Ain't it the devil'sown luck I should be chained down here like this!"

  "Maybe you'll be better before long."

  "Don't be a fool," snarled Ellen. "Of course I shan't."

  She closed her eyes, and Lucy saw her face first harden into a rebelliousfrown, then relax into sleep. As soon as the girl was quite sure she wouldnot be heard, she went to the window and, drawing aside the curtain, wavedher handkerchief.

  Evidently Martin Howe was awaiting the signal, for on receiving it hesprang up from the chopping block where he was sitting and, returning thesalute, disappeared into the barn from which he presently emerged with hissurrey and bay mare.

  Lucy lingered to see him rattle out of the yard and pass over the crest ofthe hill. Then with a strange sense of comfort and companionship she wentback to her aunt's room. She sat there until dusk, watching the sleepingwoman upon the bed.

  Then Melvina arrived. She proved to be a large, placid-faced woman with acountenance from which every human emotion had been eliminated until itwas as expressionless as a bronze Buddha. If she had ever known sorrow,delight, affection, surprise, it was so long ago that her reactionarysystem had forgotten how to reflect these sensations. It was obvious thatnothing concerned her outside her immediate calling and that she acceptedthis with a stoical immovability which was neither to be diverted norinfluenced.

  Taking Lucy's hand in a loose, pudgy grasp she remarked:

  "A shock?"

  "Yes, you see, my aunt----"

  "How old is she?"

  "A little over seventy-five. I was away and when I----"

  "First shock?"

  "Yes."

  "Where is she?"

  "Upstairs. But before you see her I want to explain that she is alittle--well, peculiar. You may find that she----"

  "I shan't pay no attention," replied Melvina indifferently. "I've seen allsorts--fretters, groaners, whiners, scolders; they're all one to me. Soyou needn't give yourself any uneasiness."

  She spoke in a voice as humdrum and colorless as was her round, flabbyface, and Lucy smiled in spite of herself.

  "I fancy it isn't really necessary for me to tell you anything then," sheanswered good-humoredly. "Of course you have had a wonderful chance tostudy personalities."

  "I never had a chance to study anything," responded Melvina in amatter-of-fact manner. "All I know I've picked up as I went along."

  "By study I mean that you have had a wide opportunity to observe humannature," explained Lucy.

  "If by human nature you mean folks, I have," Melvina said in her habitualmonotone.

  After answering the remark, however, she made no further attempt atconversation but lapsed into a patient silence, regarding Lucy with herbig, faded blue eyes. As she stood there, one gained an impression thatshe could have stood thus for an indefinite length of time--forever, ifnecessary. Not once did her gaze wander to her surroundings, and when Lucyconducted her to the room that had been assigned her she entered itwithout curiosity.

  "I hope you will be comfortable here," the girl murmured with a hostess'ssolicitude.

  "I shall be."

  "And if there is anything you want----"

  "I'll ask for it."

  Although there was no rebuke in the utterance, before this monument ofcomposure, Lucy, like David Copperfield in the presence of the waiter,suddenly felt very young.

  "Thank you; I wish you would," she managed to stammer, hastily closing thedoor.

  She reflected with amusement, as she made her retreat, that there wereseveral things she had intended to caution the new nurse not to mention,one being that it was Martin Howe who had brought her hither. But afterhaving once seen Melvina Grey, such warnings became superfluous andabsurd. There was no more probability of Melvina's imparting to Ellen thecircumstances of her coming than there was of the rocks on the mountainside breaking into speech and voicing their past history. Therefore shecrept downstairs to the kitchen to prepare supper, pondering as she wentas to how Ellen and this strangely stolid attendant would get ontogether.

  "It will be like a storm dashing against granite cliffs," she thoughtwhimsically. "Well, there is one merciful thing about it--I shall not haveto worry about Melviny gossiping or telling tales."

  In this assumption Lucy was quite right. Melvina Grey proved not only tobe as dumb as an oyster but even more uncommunicative than thattraditionally self-contained bivalve. Notwithstanding her cheeryconversation about the weather, the crops, Sefton Falls, the scenery, shenever trespassed upon personalities, or offered an observation concerningher immediate environment; nor could she be beguiled into narrating whatold Herman Cole died of, or whether he liked his son's wife or not. Thiswas aggravating, for Melvina had been two years a nurse in the Cole familyand was well qualified to clear up these vexed questions. Equally futile,too, were Ellen's attempts to wring from her lips any confidentialinformation about the Hoyles' financial tangles, despite the fact that shehad been in the house during the tragedy of Samuel Hoyle's failure andhad welcomed the Hoyle baby into the world.

  "Why, the woman's a clam--that's what she is!" announced the exasperatedpatient. "You can get nothin' out of her. She might as well not knowanything if she's going to be that close-mouthed. I don't believe hotirons would drag the words out of her. Anyhow, she won't go retailin' ouraffairs all over town after she goes from here; that's one comfort!"

  Lucy endorsed the observation with enthusiasm. It was indeed just as wellthat Melvina did not report in the sick room all that went on downstairs.

  What, for example, would have been Ellen's feeling had she known thatevery morning some one of the Howe sisters came stealing across the fieldsto help with the Webster housework? And what would she have said ondiscovering that it was her hereditary enemy Martin himself who not onlydirected the cultivation of her garden but assumed much of its actualwork.

  Ah, Ellen would have writhed in her bed had such tidings been borne toher. She would, in truth, probably have done far more than writhe had shebeen cognizant that every evening this same Mr. Martin Howe, arrayed withscrupulous care, leaped the historic wall and came to sit on the Websterdoorstep and discuss problems relative to plowing and planting. And if, asfrequently happened, the talk wandered off from cabbages and turnips tosunsets and moon glades, and if sometimes there were conscious intervalswhen there was no talk at all, who was the wiser? Certainly not Ellen, whoin her dim chamber little suspected that the pair who whispered beneathher window had long since become as oblivious to the fact that they wereHowe and Webster as were Romeo and Juliet that they were Montague andCapulet.

  No, the weeks passed, and Ellen lay in blissful ignorance that the shuttleof Fate, ever speeding to and fro, was subtly entangling in its delicatemeshes these heirs of an inherited hatred.


  Martin's sisters saw the romance and rejoiced; and although she gave nosign, Melvina Grey must also have seen it.

  As for the man and his beloved, they dwelt apart in an ephemeral worldwhere only the prosaic hours when they were separated were unreal. Theirrealities were smiles, sighs, glances,--the thousand and one nothingsthat make up the joys and agonies of a lover's existence. Thus the weekspassed.

  In the meanwhile, as a result of rest and good care, Ellen steadily becamestronger and soon reached a point where it was no empty platitude toassure her that she was really better.

  "I do believe we shall have you downstairs yet, Aunt Ellen," said Lucygaily. "You are gaining every minute."

  "It's time I gained," Ellen retorted with acidity.

  "You're gainin' all right," echoed Melvina. "I plan to have you settin' upsoon. Sometime, when you're havin' a good day an' feel real spry, I meanto hist you into a chair an' let you take a look at the view."

  The date for this innovation came sooner than either Lucy or theoptimistic nurse foresaw, for Ellen continued to mend so rapidly that oneafternoon, when twilight was deepening into purple, Melvina proposed toattempt the experiment of moving the invalid.

  "How'd you like to try settin' up a spell to-night?" she inquired withoutpreamble. "I'll get a chair ready, and fix you in it, an' shove you overto the window so'st you can look out. There ain't much to see, to be sure;still the change will rest you, an' mebbe you'll sleep better after it."

  Ellen did not demur. Melvina had proved herself a trustworthy pilot anddemonstrated that her suggestions were worth considering.

  "All right," she replied. "Only hadn't you better call Lucy?"

  "What for?"

  "To help you."

  A contemptuous smile curled Melvina's lips.

  "Bless your soul an' body, I've no need of help," was her answer. "Youdon't weigh nothin', an' even if you did, I've moved so many folks that Iwouldn't hesitate. You ain't afraid, are you?"

  "Mercy, no."

  "There's no cause for you to be," went on the nurse reassuringly. "I knowwhat I'm about. All you've got to do is to mind what I tell you."

  Ellen's jaw squared itself.

  "I 'spect that's about all I'll ever do again," she returned in a bitingtone.

  The proposed adventure subsequently resolved itself into a much simplerundertaking than it had promised, for Ellen was light as a feather andMelvina strong, deft, and experienced. Hence without mishap the invalidwas transferred to the big chair and rolled to the window, where she couldlook out on the valley melting into the shadows of evening.

  Had she restricted her observations to the scenery she might have returnedto her couch refreshed both in mind and body; but unluckily she chanced tolet her glance wander to the garden, and there an astonishing sight mether eyes.

  In the seclusion of the lilac hedge stood two figures, that of a man and awoman. The man held in his hand a trowel and was transplanting in the richbrown soil some tender green things which the woman was handing him from abasket. The presence of a stranger who was apparently so much at homewithin her boundaries was in itself sufficient to arouse Ellen'scuriosity; but what whetted curiosity to indignation was the manner inwhich the pair were performing the simple task. Even a person blind toromance and deaf to sentiment could not help realizing that the plantingwas a very immaterial part of the pastoral tableau, and there was muchmore significance in the drama than the setting out of young seedlings.

  Fascinated, Ellen gazed, her wrath rising.

  "Melviny!" she burst out at last, "come here!"

  "Yes, Miss Webster."

  "Who's that out in the garden?"

  "Where?"

  "Over there near the lilac hedge," specified Ellen impatiently.

  Melvina rubbed her glasses then smothered a little gasp; but she quicklyrecovered her wonted stolidity.

  "It's Miss Lucy, I reckon," she said slowly.

  "But the man--the man!" persisted Ellen. "Who is he?"

  "Oh, the man. That's Mr. Howe--the one that lives next door."

  "Martin Howe?"

  "Yes, I believe they do call him Martin," responded Melvina imperturbably,resuming her interrupted task of turning the mattress and plumping itsfeathers into luxurious billows of softness.

  Ellen did not speak immediately. When she did it was to ask:

  "What's Martin Howe doin' on my land?"

  "Helpin', I s'pose," Melvina replied with indifference. "He often does."

  "He comes over here an' works?"

  "Yes, marm."

  Ellen brought her fist down on the arm of the chair with an exclamation ofanger. Her lips were white, and she trembled. Raising her unsteady finger,she pointed toward the unconscious culprits.

  "You go straight out there, Melvina," she cried, "an' tell Lucy I wanther."

  "Yes, marm."

  "Hurry!"

  "Yes."

  She watched while Melvina plodded across the grass and delivered hermessage. Instantly Lucy dropped the basket and hastened toward the house.Another moment the girl stood before her.

  "You're worse, Aunt Ellen?" she said, panting for breath.

  But Ellen ignored the question.

  "What's Martin Howe doin' in my garden?" she demanded fiercely.

  Lucy paled.

  "He came over to help me transplant the larkspur."

  "By what right does he come over here, I'd like to know?"

  No reply came.

  "Has he been over before?" interrogated Ellen ruthlessly.

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Oh, off an' on. He's been trying to help out since you've been ill."

  "Help out!" repeated Ellen scornfully. "The coward! He wouldn't have daredset foot on the place if I'd been well."

  "He isn't a coward!"

  Lucy had drawn herself to her full height and now confronted her aunt withblazing eyes. Ellen, however, was not to be deterred.

  "He _is_ a coward!" she reiterated. "A coward an' a blackguard! A curse onthe Howes--the whole lot of 'em!"

  "Stop!"

  The intonation of the single word brought Ellen's harangue to an abruptcessation.

  "You shan't speak so of Martin Howe or of his family," cried the girl. "Heis no coward. If he had been as small-minded and cruel as you, he wouldhave left you to die on the floor the day you fell, instead of bringingyou upstairs and going for a doctor--you, who have cursed him! You hadbetter know the truth. Did you think it was I who placed you on this bed?I couldn't have done it. I am not strong enough. It was Martin--MartinHowe!"

  Ellen stared stupidly.

  "I'd rather have died!" she muttered between clinched teeth.

  "Yes, you would," retorted Lucy. "You would rather have gone down to yourgrave with bitterness in your soul and a curse upon your lips than to haveaccepted aid from Martin Howe. You would not have helped him had he beenin trouble. You would have been glad to see him suffer--glad!"

  The woman listened as if spellbound.

  "But Martin Howe is too much of a Christian for that. Yes, you can sneer.He is a Christian and a gentleman. You are not worthy to touch the groundbeneath his feet. He would not leave you without help. Since you have beenill, he has given part of each day to working in your garden; and he isbusy and tired, too. He's done it that your crops might not fail. It isMartin Howe that you have to thank for your harvest, whether you like itor not--Martin Howe!"

  Breathlessly she paused.

  "You seem to have a terrible high opinion of Martin Howe," scoffed Ellen,with scathing sarcasm.

  "I have."

  "Likely you're in love with him," jibed the tormentor.

  "Yes, I love him."

  The simple confession came proudly from the girl's lips.

  "An' he loves you, no doubt," continued the old woman with a laugh. "Atleast he's probably told you so."

  "No, he hasn't."

  "Oh-ho! He hasn't, eh?"

  "No."

  "An' never will," shouted the harp
y triumphantly. "He ain't marryin' noWebsters--don't you think it for one minute. He's just makin' a fool ofyou. That's his idea of revenge--your Christian gentleman!"

  She rubbed her dank hands together.

  "I don't believe it."

  "You wouldn't be likely to," returned Ellen sharply. "I didn't expect it.No girl is ever willin' to believe her lover's a scoundrel. But mark mywords--Martin Howe is playin' with you--playin'--just the way a cat playswith a mouse. He's aimin' to get you into his clutches an' ruin you--waitan' see if he ain't. Oh, he's a deep one, this gentleman you seem to thinkso much of!"

  "I'll not believe it," repeated Lucy hotly.

  "You'd marry him, I s'pose," Ellen hissed.

  "If he asked me, yes."

  "You traitor! An' you a Webster!"

  "I don't care."

  The woman surveyed her niece in silence.

  "Well," she said finally, "you can put your soul at rest. Martin Howe willnever marry you--never! He would no more marry anybody of the Websterblood than he'd hang himself. Go on lovin' him if you want to. No goodwill come of it."

  With this parting prophecy Ellen shut her lips, and Lucy, throbbing fromthe stripes of the encounter and seeing further parley fruitless, slippedfrom the room and fled to the quiet of the still night's solitude.

  After she had gone and Ellen was once more in bed, Melvina tried in vainto quiet the increasing restlessness of her patient, but all attempts tosoothe the invalid were without avail. Tossing from side to side on thepillows, her fingers picking nervously at the coverings, Ellen stared intothe darkness, breaking from time to time into fragments of angrydialogue.

  The benediction of the evening's peace, musical with the rustling ofleaves and laden with the perfume of blossoming vines, brought no solaceto her heart. Presently, unable to endure the silence longer, she startedup.

  "Melviny," she called to the woman sitting beside her.

  The nurse rose from the deepening gloom and stood erect in the moonlight,her figure throwing upon the whitewashed wall a distorted, specterlikesilhouette.

  "Yes, marm."

  "Is Lucy still outdoors?"

  "Yes."

  Ellen waited an instant; then she said:

  "There's somethin' in her room I want you should get for me."

  "All right, Miss Webster."

  "It's a long white envelope. You'll find it somewheres. It'll likely be inher desk or the table drawer. It's sealed with red wax. You'll know itwhen you come across it."

  Although Melvina nodded, she did not move.

  "You needn't be afraid to fetch it," explained Ellen querulously. "It'smine. I gave it to Lucy to keep for me."

  "I see."

  Melvina started promptly on her quest.

  "Don't be all night about it," was Ellen's parting admonition.

  While the messenger was gone, the invalid gave vent to her impatience bydrumming rhythmically on the wooden edge of the bedstead, and thismeasured tattoo increased in speed until it beat time with the feverishbounding of her pulse and the throbbing of her heart.

  "Ain't you found it yet?" she shouted at last.

  "Yes, I've just come on it. It was under----"

  "No matter where it was. Bring it here."

  "I'm comin'."

  Bearing the envelope, Melvina appeared in the doorway.

  "Let me see it," said Ellen.

  She took it in her hand and, while Melvina held the candle, examined thepackage critically.

  "Humph!" she muttered. "It's good as new."

  For some unaccountable reason she seemed disappointed at the discovery.

  "Now run downstairs and put it in the stove," she commanded excitedly."Wait till every smitch of it's burned up an' then come back."

  "Yes, marm."

  But again Melvina loitered.

  "I tell you the thing is mine to do with as I please," declared Ellenangrily.

  "Yes, marm."

  "Ain't you going?"

  "Y-e-s."

  As she heard the nurse's reluctant step on the stairs, an evil light cameinto the old woman's face.

  "I'll fix that!" she whispered aloud.

  It took Melvina some time to fulfill her errand, but at length shereturned, and the moment she was inside the door Ellen's shrill querygreeted her:

  "Well, did you burn it?"

  "Yes, marm."

  "Every scrap of it?"

  "Yes."

  "You didn't leave nothin'?"

  "No."

  The woman in the bed drew a satisfied breath.

  "That's all right then. Now get me a drink of water, an' I'll go tosleep."

  The sleep she craved, however, did not come, for throughout the night shecontinued to move unceasingly.

  "Your aunt didn't so much as close her eyes," announced Melvina to Lucythe next morning, while the two sat at breakfast. Nevertheless, althoughshe advanced this information, with characteristic secretiveness she saidnothing of the happenings of the previous evening.

  Truly if "Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul fromtroubles," Melvina's eternal serenity of spirit was assured.