at the idea, sat on behind the counter and watched the
darkening street. She always lit the gas as late as possible, keeping
the box of matches at her elbow, so that if any one came she could apply
a quick flame to the gas-jet. At length through the deepening dusk she
distinguished a slim dark figure coming down the steps to the shop. With
a little warmth of pleasure about her heart she reached up to light the
gas. "I do believe I'll ask her name this time," she thought. She raised
the flame to its full height, and saw her sister standing in the door.

There she was at last, the poor pale shade of Evelina, her thin face
blanched of its faint pink, the stiff ripples gone from her hair, and a
mantle shabbier than Ann Eliza's drawn about her narrow shoulders. The
glare of the gas beat full on her as she stood and looked at Ann Eliza.

"Sister--oh, Evelina! I knowed you'd come!"

Ann Eliza had caught her close with a long moan of triumph. Vague
words poured from her as she laid her cheek against Evelina's--trivial
inarticulate endearments caught from Mrs. Hawkins's long discourses to
her baby.

For a while Evelina let herself be passively held; then she drew back
from her sister's clasp and looked about the shop. "I'm dead tired.
Ain't there any fire?" she asked.

"Of course there is!" Ann Eliza, holding her hand fast, drew her into
the back room. She did not want to ask any questions yet: she simply
wanted to feel the emptiness of the room brimmed full again by the one
presence that was warmth and light to her.

She knelt down before the grate, scraped some bits of coal and kindling
from the bottom of the coal-scuttle, and drew one of the rocking-chairs
up to the weak flame. "There--that'll blaze up in a minute," she said.
She pressed Evelina down on the faded cushions of the rocking-chair,
and, kneeling beside her, began to rub her hands.

"You're stone-cold, ain't you? Just sit still and warm yourself while I
run and get the kettle. I've got something you always used to fancy for
supper." She laid her hand on Evelina's shoulder. "Don't talk--oh, don't
talk yet!" she implored. She wanted to keep that one frail second of
happiness between herself and what she knew must come.

Evelina, without a word, bent over the fire, stretching her thin hands
to the blaze and watching Ann Eliza fill the kettle and set the supper
table. Her gaze had the dreamy fixity of a half-awakened child's.

Ann Eliza, with a smile of trium