ate person rigid obstinacy and rigid goodness
looked out together, with equal severity, on all her fellow-creatures
alike. Her mistress (whom she had served for a quarter of a century and
more) called her "Bony." She accepted this cruelly appropriate nick-name
as a mark of affectionate familiarity which honored a servant. No other
person was allowed to take liberties with her: to every one but her
mistress she was known as Mrs. Ellmother.

"How is my aunt?" Emily asked.

"Bad."

"Why have I not heard of her illness before?"

"Because she's too fond of you to let you be distressed about her.
'Don't tell Emily'; those were her orders, as long as she kept her
senses."

"Kept her senses? Good heavens! what do you mean?"

"Fever--that's what I mean."

"I must see her directly; I am not afraid of infection."

"There's no infection to be afraid of. But you mustn't see her, for all
that."

"I insist on seeing her."

"Miss Emily, I am disappointing you for your own good. Don't you know me
well enough to trust me by this time?"

"I do trust you."

"Then leave my mistress to me--and go and make yourself comfortable in
your own room."

Emily's answer was a positive refusal. Mrs. Ellmother, driven to her
last resources, raised a new obstacle.

"It's not to be done, I tell you! How can you see Miss Letitia when she
can't bear the light in her room? Do you know what color her eyes are?
Red, poor soul--red as a boiled lobster."

With every word the woman uttered, Emily's perplexity and distress
increased.

"You told me my aunt's illness was fever," she said--"and now you speak
of some complaint in her eyes. Stand out of the way, if you please, and
let me go to her."

Mrs. Ellmother, still keeping her place, looked through the open door.

"Here's the doctor," she announced. "It seems I can't satisfy you; ask
him what's the matter. Come in, doctor." She threw open the door of the
parlor, and introduced Emily. "This is the mistress's niece, sir. Please
try if _you_ can keep her quiet. I can't." She placed chairs with the
hospitable politeness of the old school--and returned to her post at
Miss Letitia's bedside.

Doctor Allday was an elderly man, with a cool manner and a ruddy
complexion--thoroughly acclimatized to the atmosphere of pain and grief
in which it was his destiny to live. He spoke to Emily (without any
undue familiarity) as if he had been accustomed to see her for the
greater part of her life.

"Th