queer things: he talked about an onyx clock, and said he had been
made a fool of, and that no matter what came out, I was always to
remember that he had done what he did for the best, and that--that he
cared for me more than for anything in this world or the next."

"That wasn't so foolish!" I couldn't help it; I leaned over and
drew her nightgown up over her bare white shoulder. "You won't help
anything or anybody by taking cold, my dear," I said. "Call your maid
and have her put a dressing-gown around you."

I left soon after. There was little I could do. But I comforted her as
best I could, and said good night. My heart was heavy as I went down
the stairs. For, twist things as I might, it was clear that in some
way the Howell boy was mixed up in the Brice case. Poor little
troubled Lida! Poor distracted boy!

I had a curious experience down-stairs. I had reached the foot of the
staircase and was turning to go back and along the hall to the side
entrance, when I came face to face with Isaac, the old colored man
who had driven the family carriage when I was a child, and whom I had
seen, at intervals since I came back, pottering around Alma's house.
The old man was bent and feeble; he came slowly down the hall, with
a bunch of keys in his hand. I had seen him do the same thing many
times.

He stopped when he saw me, and I shrank back from the light, but he
had seen me. "Miss Bess!" he said. "Foh Gawd's sake, Miss Bess!"

"You are making a mistake, my friend," I said, quivering. "I am not
'Miss Bess'!"

He came close to me and stared into my face. And from that he looked
at my cloth gloves, at my coat, and he shook his white head. "I sure
thought you was Miss Bess," he said, and made no further effort to
detain me. He led the way back to the door where the machine waited,
his head shaking with the palsy of age, muttering as he went. He
opened the door with his best manner, and stood aside.

"Good night, ma'am," he quavered.

I had tears in my eyes. I tried to keep them back. "Good night," I
said. "Good night, _Ikkie_."

It had slipped out, my baby name for old Isaac!

"Miss Bess!" he cried. "Oh, praise Gawd, it's Miss Bess again!"

He caught my arm and pulled me back into the hall, and there he held
me, crying over me, muttering praises for my return, begging me to
come back, recalling little tender things out of the past that almost
killed me to hear again.

But I had made my bed and must lie in it. I fo