ce, the like
of which the girl had never heard from him before; then he shut the
door, and she heard the key turn in the lock.

"Father, I can't stay in here," cried Ellen. She ran towards the
other door into the front hall, but before she could reach it she
heard the key turn in that also. Andrew was convinced that Eva had
escaped from the asylum, and thus made sure of Ellen's safety in
case she was violent. Then he rushed out into the kitchen, and there
was Amabel clinging to her mother like a little wild thing, and
Fanny weeping aloud.

When Andrew entered Fanny flew to him. "O Andrew--O Andrew!" she
cried. "Eva's come out! She's well! she's cured! She's as well as
anybody! She is! She says so, and I know she is! Only look at her!"

"Mamma, mamma!" gasped Amabel, in a strange, little, pent voice,
which did not sound like a child's. There was something fairly
inhuman about it. "Mamma," as she said it, did not sound like a word
in any known language. It was like a cry of universal childhood for
its parent. Amabel clung to her mother, not only with her slender
little arms, but with her legs and breast and neck; all her slim
body became as a vine with tendrils of love and growth around her
mother.

As for Eva, she could not have enough of her. She was intoxicated
with the possession of this little creature of her own flesh and
blood.

"She's grown; she's grown so tall," she said, in a high, panting
voice. It was all she could seem to realize--the fact that the child
had grown so tall--and it filled her at once with ineffable pain and
delight. She held the little thing so close to her that the two
seemed fairly one. "Mamma, mamma!" said Amabel again.

"She has--grown so tall," panted Eva.

Fanny went up to her and tried gently to loosen her grasp of the
little girl. In her heart she was not yet quite sure of her. This
fierceness of delight began to alarm her. "Of course she has grown
tall, Eva Tenny," she said. "It's quite a while since you
were--taken sick."

"I ain't sick now," said Eva, in a steady voice. "I'm cured now. The
doctors say so. You needn't be afraid, Fanny Brewster."

"Mamma, mamma!" said Amabel. Eva bent down and kissed the little,
delicate face; then she looked at her sister and at Andrew, and her
own countenance seemed fairly illuminated. "I 'ain't _told_ you
all," said she. Then she stopped and hesitated.

"What is it, Eva?" asked Fanny, looking at her with increasing
courage. The tears