en her wont since she recovered her freedom. She seemed to be
trying to make up to her aunt for a want of sociability in the past.

At eleven she got up and stood before the Old Lady in the attitude of a
penitent. Apparently she had been seized with a mysterious impulse of
confession.

"Aunt," she said, "there's something I want to say to you."

She paused, casting about in her mind for the sins she had committed.
They were three in all.

"I am afraid I have been very extravagant"--she was thinking of the
blouse--"and--and very foolish"--she was thinking of Bastian
Cautley--"and very selfish"--she was thinking of her momentary desire to
die.

"Juliana, if you're worrying about that money"--the Old Lady was thinking
of nothing else--"don't. I've plenty for us both. As long as we can keep
together I don't care what I eat, nor what I drink, nor what I put on my
poor back. And if the worst comes to the worst I'll sell the furniture."

It seemed to Miss Quincey that she had never known her aunt in all those
five-and-twenty years; never known her until this minute. For perhaps,
after all, being angry with Juliana was only Mrs. Moon's way of being
sorry for her. But how was Juliana to know that?

"Only," continued the Old Lady, "I won't part with your uncle's picture.
Don't ask me to part with your uncle's picture."

"You won't have to part with anything. I'll--I'll get something to do.
I'm not worrying. There's nothing to worry about."

She stooped down and tenderly kissed the wrinkled forehead.

A vague fear clutched at the Old Lady's heart.

"Then, Juliana, you are not well. Hadn't you better see"--she
hesitated--pausing with unwonted delicacy for her words--"a doctor?"

"I don't want to see a doctor. There is nothing the matter with me." And
still insisting that there was nothing the matter with her, she went to
bed.

And old Martha had come with her early morning croak to call Miss
Juliana; she had dumped down the hot-water can in the basin with a clash,
pulled up the blind with a jerk, and drawn back the curtains with a
clatter, before she noticed that Miss Juliana was up all the time. Up and
dressed, and sitting in her chair by the hearth, warming her feet at
an imaginary fire.

She had been sitting up all night, for her bed was as Martha had left it
the night before. Martha approached cautiously, still feeling her way,
though there was no need for it, the room being full of light.

She groped like a b