se she is," replied Sylvia.

This time Rose did not attempt to bruise herself against the elder
woman's imperturbability. She did not look convinced, but again the
troubled expression came over her face.

"I am glad you relished your supper," said Sylvia.

"It was very nice," replied Rose, absently. Suddenly the look of
white horror which had overspread her countenance on the night of her
arrival possessed it again.

"What on earth is the matter?" cried Sylvia.

"I almost remembered, then," gasped the girl. "You know what I told
you the night I came. Don't let me remember, Aunt Sylvia. I think I
shall die if I ever do."

Sylvia was as white as the girl, but she rose briskly. "There's
nothing to remember," she said. "You're nervous, but I'm going to
make some of that root-beer of mine to-morrow. It has hops in it, and
it's real quieting. Now you stop worrying, and wait a minute. I've
got something to show you. Here, you look at this book you've been
reading, and stop thinking. I'll be back in a minute. I've just got
to step into the other chamber."

Sylvia was back in a moment. She never was obliged to hesitate for a
second as to the whereabouts of any of her possessions. She had some
little boxes in her hand, and one rather large one under her arm.
Rose looked at them with interest. "What is it, Aunt Sylvia?" said
she.

Sylvia laughed. "Something to show you that belongs to you," she said.

"Why, what have you got that belongs to me, Aunt Sylvia?"

"You wait a minute."

Sylvia and Rose both stood beside the white dressing-table, and
Sylvia opened the boxes, one after another, and slowly and
impressively removed their contents, and laid them in orderly rows on
the white dimity of the table. The lamplight shone on them, and the
table blazed like an altar with jewelled fires. Rose gasped. "Why,
Aunt Sylvia!" said she.

"All these things belonged to your aunt Abrahama, and now they belong
to you," said Sylvia, in a triumphant tone.

"Why, but these are perfectly beautiful things!"

"Yes; I don't believe anybody in East Westland ever knew she had
them. I don't believe she could have worn them, even when she was a
girl, or I should have heard of them. I found them all in her bureau
drawer. She didn't even keep them under lock and key; but then she
never went out anywhere, and if nobody even knew she had them, they
were safe enough. Now they're all yours."

"But they belong to you, Aunt Sylvia."

Sylvia t