in the next
house, and the next, and has been ever since he has had an office in
South Street?"

Amy felt very warm, and replied, carelessly, that she thought it was
quite likely.

"I have plenty of time to think up here, my child," continued Aunt
Martha. "God is so good that He has spared my reason, and I have
satisfied myself why Lawrence Newt wanted to come here."

Amy sat without replying, as if she were listening to distant music. Her
head drooped slightly forward; her hands were clasped in her lap; the
delicate color glimmered upon her cheek, now deepening, now paling. The
silence was exquisite, but she must break it.

"Why?" said she, in a low voice.

"Because he loves you, Amy," said the dark woman, as her busy fingers
stitched without pausing.

Amy Waring was perfectly calm. The words seemed to give her soul
delicious peace, and she waited to hear what her aunt would say next.

"I know that he loves you, from the way in which he spoke of you. I know
that you love him for the same reason."

Aunt Martha went on working and rocking. Amy turned pale. She had not
dared to say to herself what another had now said to her. But suddenly
she started as if stung. "If Aunt Martha has seen this so plainly, why
may not Lawrence Newt have seen it?" The apprehension frightened her.

A long silence followed the last words of Aunt Martha. She did not look
at Amy, for she had no external curiosity to satisfy, and she understood
well enough what Amy was thinking.

They were still silent, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," said the clear, hard voice of Aunt Martha.

The door opened--the two women looked--and Lawrence Newt walked into the
room. He shook hands with Aunt Martha, and then turned to Amy.

"This time, Miss Amy, I have caught you. Have I not kept your secret
well?"

Amy was thinking of another secret than Aunt Martha's living in Front
Street, and she merely blushed, without speaking.

"I tried very hard to persuade myself to come up here after I saw you at
the window. But I did not until the secret looked out of the window and
revealed itself. I came to-day to say that I am going out of town in a
day or two, and that I should like, before I go, to know that I may do
what I can to take Aunt Martha out of this place."

Aunt Martha shook her head slowly. "Why should it be?" said she. "Great
sin must be greatly punished. To die, while I live; to be buried alive
close to my nearest and dearest