in
the car, when Captain Ferguson handed her Tilly's last letter, which had
lain in the post-office for three days.

It was very short:

"DEAR MOTHER: I shall be very glad indeed to see you. I have a surprise
which I hope will be pleasant for you; anyhow, I truly have meant it for
your happiness.

"Your affectionate daughter,

"M. E. LOUDER."

There must have been, despite her shrewd sense, an obtuse streak in
Tilly, else she would never have written that letter. Jane read it
twice. The paper rattled in her hands. "Tilly has moved while I was
gone," she said; "I never shall live in the block again." She dropped
her veil over her face. She sat very quietly in her seat; but the
conductor who came for her ticket watched her sharply, she seemed so
dazed by his demand and was so long in finding the ticket.

The train rumbled and hissed through darkening cornfields, into
scattered yellow lights of low houses, into angles of white light of
street-arcs and shop-windows, into the red and blue lights dancing
before the engines in the station.

"Mother!" cried Tilly's voice.

Jane let her and Harry Lossing take all her bundles and lift her out of
the car. Whether she spoke a word she could not tell. She did rouse a
little at the vision of the Lossing carriage glittering at the street
corner; but she had not the sense to thank Harry Lossing, who placed her
in the carriage and lifted his hat in farewell.

"What's he doing all that for, Tilly?" cried she; "there ain't--there
ain't nobody dead--Maria Carleton------" She stared at Tilly wildly.

Tilly was oddly moved, though she tried to speak lightly. "No, no, there
ain't nothing wrong, at all. It's because you've done so much for the
Russians--and other folks! Now, ma, I'm going to be mysterious. You must
shut your eyes and shut your mouth until I tell you. That's a dear ma."

It was vaguely comforting to have Tilly so affectionate. "I'm a wicked,
ungrateful woman to be so wretched," thought Jane; "I'll never let Tilly
know how I felt."

In a surprisingly short time the carriage stopped. "Now, ma," said
Tilly.

A great blaze of light seemed all about Jane Louder. There were the dear
familiar windows of the Lossing block.

"Come up-stairs, ma," said Tilly.

She followed like one in a dream; and like one in a dream she was pushed
into her own old parlor. The old parlor, but not quite the old parlor;
hung with new wall-paper, shining with new paint, soft under h