acher, or to some other woman?

She waited eagerly to hear more. There was nothing to be heard. At this
most interesting moment, the silence remained undisturbed.

In the fervor of her anxiety to set her doubts at rest, Emily's faith in
her own good resolutions began to waver. The temptation to say
something which might set her aunt talking again was too strong to be
resisted--if she remained at the bedside. Despairing of herself she rose
and turned to the door. In the moment that passed while she crossed the
room the very words occurred to her that would suit her purpose. Her
cheeks were hot with shame--she hesitated--she looked back at the
bed--the words passed her lips.

"Sara is only one of the woman's names," she said. "Do you like her
other name?"

The rapidly-muttering tones broke out again instantly--but not in answer
to Emily. The sound of a voice had encouraged Miss Letitia to pursue
her own confused train of thought, and had stimulated the fast-failing
capacity of speech to exert itself once more.

"No! no! He's too cunning for you, and too cunning for me. He doesn't
leave letters about; he destroys them all. Did I say he was too cunning
for us? It's false. We are too cunning for him. Who found the morsels of
his letter in the basket? Who stuck them together? Ah, _we_ know! Don't
read it, Bony. 'Dear Miss Jethro'--don't read it again. 'Miss Jethro' in
his letter; and 'Sara,' when he talks to himself in the garden. Oh,
who would have believed it of him, if we hadn't seen and heard it
ourselves!"

There was no more doubt now.

But who was the man, so bitterly and so regretfully alluded to?

No: this time Emily held firmly by the resolution which bound her
to respect the helpless position of her aunt. The speediest way of
summoning Mrs. Ellmother would be to ring the bell. As she touched the
handle a faint cry of suffering from the bed called her back.

"Oh, so thirsty!" murmured the failing voice--"so thirsty!"

She parted the curtains. The shrouded lamplight just showed her the
green shade over Miss Letitia's eyes--the hollow cheeks below it--the
arms laid helplessly on the bed-clothes. "Oh, aunt, don't you know my
voice? Don't you know Emily? Let me kiss you, dear!" Useless to plead
with her; useless to kiss her; she only reiterated the words, "So
thirsty! so thirsty!" Emily raised the poor tortured body with a patient
caution which spared it pain, and put the glass to her aunt's lips. She
drank t