ggs had not been close; Eva's visits had always been a
surprise. And on this day when Annie saw her coming, she got up in a
flutter to meet her at the door.

"Why, how do you do?" Annie cried, catching her hand. "I am delighted
to see you. When did you get home? We didn't hear that you had come
back."

"We returned not more than an hour ago."

"Come in and put your things off."

"I haven't time to stay but a few moments. Is your mother well?"

"Yes, very well. I will call her."

"Oh, no, I'm going to remain so short a time. I was out walking and I
thought I'd stop for a moment. Is your father well?"

"Yes, as well as usual. I don't know where he is--out in the garden, I
suppose."

"Is Mr. Lyman here yet?"

"You mean is he still in town? Oh, yes, and he boards here, but I
suppose he's at his office."

"Somebody told me that he was thinking of leaving town."

"That may be, but he hasn't gone yet."

"Does he do most of his work here?"

"Yes, all but the work for the paper."

"Would you mind showing me the room where he does his work? I'd like
so much to see it."

"With pleasure, I'm sure."

She led Eva to the room above. The young woman stood with her hands
clasped, looking at the bare walls--she looked at the chair, at every
article of meager furniture. She went to the desk and took up a pen.
"Is this the pen he writes with?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so. Did you wish to write something?"

"Oh, no," she answered, holding the pen. "And is that where he walks
up and down while he's thinking?" she asked, pointing to a thread-bare
pathway in the rag carpet.

"It must be," Annie answered. "We hear him walking a good deal and he
always seems to be walking up and down in the same place."

Eva put down the pen and turned to go. Annie looked at her narrowly.
They went down stairs and Eva did not halt until she had reached the
door. "Won't you sit down?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I must be getting back. You must come over to see
us. Good-bye."

Annie went out to the dining-room where her mother was ironing. "Eva
has just been here," she said. "All she wanted was to go into the room
where Mr. Lyman does his work. She's dead in love with him and he's
blind as a bat not to see it. I don't believe he wrote the book--I
don't believe he could write anything."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE PETITION.

Lyman did not sleep much that night. Annie, cautioned by her discreet
mother not to say too much, had simply t