g affliction, were
fain to stand mute when they saw her to pay a silent deference to one
whom sorrow had lifted far above them and transfigured. That was the look
on Cynthia's face. She went up the stairs, and they stood in the hall not
knowing what to do, whispering in awe-struck voices. They were still
there when Cynthia came down again, dressed for the street. Jane seized
her by the hand.

"Where are you going, Cynthia?" she asked.

"I shall be back by five," said Cynthia.

She went up the hill, and across to old Louisburg Square, and up the hill
again. The weather had cleared, the violet-paned windows caught the
slanting sunlight and flung it back across the piles of snow. It was a
day for wedding-bells. At last Cynthia came to a queerly fashioned little
green door that seemed all askew with the slanting street, and rang the
bell, and in another moment was standing on the threshold of Miss
Lucretia Penniman's little sitting room. To Miss Lucretia, at her writing
table, one glance was sufficient. She rose quickly to meet the girl,
kissed her unresponsive cheek, and led her to a chair. Miss Lucretia was
never one to beat about the bush, even in the gravest crisis.

"You have read the articles," she said.

Read them! During her walk hither Cynthia had been incapable of thought,
but the epithets and arraignments and accusations, the sentences and
paragraphs, wars printed now, upon her brain, never, she believed, to be
effaced. Every step of the way she had been unconsciously repeating them.

"Have you read them?" asked Cynthia.

"Yes, my dear."

"Has everybody read them?" Did the whole world, then, know of her shame?

"I am glad you came to me, my dear," said Miss Lucretia, taking her hand.
"Have you talked of this to any one else?"

"No," said Cynthia, simply.

Miss Lucretia was puzzled. She had not looked for apathy, but she did not
know all of Cynthia's troubles. She wondered whether she had misjudged
the girl, and was misled by her attitude.

"Cynthia," she said, with a briskness meant to hide emotion for Miss
Lucretia had emotions, "I am a lonely old woman, getting too old, indeed,
to finish the task of my life. I went to see Mrs. Merrill the other day
to ask her if she would let you come and live with me. Will you?"

Cynthia shook her head.

"No, Miss Lucretia, I cannot," she answered.

"I won't press it on you now," said Miss Lucretia.

"I cannot, Miss Lucretia. I'm going to Coniston."

"Goin