he sitting-room and seat her by the
darkened hearth.

"There is kindling wood here: the fire will burn in a minute."

She knelt down, and the flame leapt under her rapid hands. It flashed
strangely through the tears which still blurred her eyes, and smote on
the white ruin of Lily's face. The girls looked at each other in silence;
then Lily repeated: "I couldn't go home."

"No--no--you came here, dear! You're cold and tired--sit quiet, and I'll
make you some tea."

Gerty had unconsciously adopted the soothing note of her trade: all
personal feeling was merged in the sense of ministry, and experience had
taught her that the bleeding must be stayed before the wound is probed.

Lily sat quiet, leaning to the fire: the clatter of cups behind her
soothed her as familiar noises hush a child whom silence has kept
wakeful. But when Gerty stood at her side with the tea she pushed it
away, and turned an estranged eye on the familiar room.

"I came here because I couldn't bear to be alone," she said.

Gerty set down the cup and knelt beside her.

"Lily! Something has happened--can't you tell me?"

"I couldn't bear to lie awake in my room till morning. I hate my room at
Aunt Julia's--so I came here----"

She stirred suddenly, broke from her apathy, and clung to Gerty in a
fresh burst of fear.

"Oh, Gerty, the furies . . . you know the noise of their wings--alone, at
night, in the dark? But you don't know--there is nothing to make the dark
dreadful to you----"

The words, flashing back on Gerty's last hours, struck from her a faint
derisive murmur; but Lily, in the blaze of her own misery, was blinded to
everything outside it.

"You'll let me stay? I shan't mind when daylight comes--Is it late? Is
the night nearly over? It must be awful to be sleepless--everything
stands by the bed and stares----"

Miss Farish caught her straying hands. "Lily, look at me! Something has
happened--an accident? You have been frightened--what has frightened you?
Tell me if you can--a word or two--so that I can help you."

Lily shook her head.

"I am not frightened: that's not the word. Can you imagine looking into
your glass some morning and seeing a disfigurement--some hideous change
that has come to you while you slept? Well, I seem to myself like that--I
can't bear to see myself in my own thoughts--I hate ugliness, you
know--I've always turned from it--but I can't explain to you--you
wouldn't understand."

She lifted her head a