ishes are done, and then I'll
tell you," whispered Ellen. The men's voices on the piazza could be
heard quite distinctly, and it seemed possible that their own
conversation might be overheard in return.

"All right," said Abby. "Of course I have heard about your aunt,"
she added, in a low voice.

"Yes," said Ellen, and she felt shamed and remorseful that her own
affairs had been uppermost in her mind, and that Abby had supposed
that she might be disturbed over this great trouble of her poor
aunt's.

"I think it is dreadful," said Abby. "I wish I could get hold of
that woman." By "that woman" she meant the woman with whom poor Jim
Tenny had eloped.

"I do," said Ellen, bitterly.

"But it's something besides that made you run over here," said Abby.

"I'll tell you when we go up to your room," replied Ellen.

When the dishes were finished, and the two girls in Abby's little
chamber, seated side by side on the bed, Ellen still hesitated.

"Now, Ellen Brewster, what is the matter? You said you would tell,
and you've got to," said Abby.

Ellen looked away from her, blushing. The electric-light from the
street shone full in the room, which was wavering with grotesque
shadows.

"Well," said she, "I ran away."

"You ran away! What for?"

"Oh, because."

"Because what?"

"Because I saw somebody coming."

"Saw who coming?"

Ellen was silent.

"Not Granville Joy?"

Ellen shook her head.

"Not--?"

Ellen looked straight ahead.

"Not young Mr. Lloyd?"

Ellen was silent with the silence of assent.

"Did he go into your house?"

Ellen nodded.

"Where were you?"

"In grandma's."

"And you ran away, over here?"

Ellen nodded.

"Why, Ellen Brewster, didn't you want to see him?"

Ellen turned from Abby with an impatient gesture, buried her face in
the bed, and began to weep.

Abby leaned over her caressingly. "Ellen dear," she whispered, "what
is the matter; what are you crying for? What made you run away?"

Ellen sobbed harder.

Abby looked at Ellen's prostrate figure sadly. "Ellen," she began;
then she stopped, for her own voice quivered. Then she went on,
quite steadily. "Ellen," she said, "you like him."

"No, I don't," declared Ellen. "I won't. I never will. Nothing shall
make me."

But Abby continued to look at her sadly and jealously. "There's a
power over us which is too strong for girls," said she, "and you've
come under it, Ellen, and you can't help it." Then she added, with