. She delved
into Tennyson and the Victorian poets, and soon was on terms of
intimacy with the poets and essayists of New England. The novelists of
the day she ignored almost completely, and voluntarily. Only
occasionally, and then as a concession, she permitted herself a reading
of Mr. Howells.

Moderately prosperous while he himself was conducting his little mill,
Dearborn had not been able to put by any money to speak of, and when
Laura and the local lawyer had come to close up the business, to
dispose of the mill, and to settle the claims against what the lawyer
grandiloquently termed "the estate," there was just enough money left
to pay for Page's tickets to Chicago and a course of tuition for her at
a seminary.

The Cresslers on the event of Dearborn's death had advised both sisters
to come West, and had pledged themselves to look after Page during the
period of her schooling. Laura had sent the little girl on at once, but
delayed taking the step herself.

Fortunately, the two sisters were not obliged to live upon their
inheritance. Dearborn himself had a sister--a twin of Aunt Wess'--who
had married a wealthy woollen merchant of Boston, and this one, long
since, had provided for the two girls. A large sum had been set aside,
which was to be made over to them when the father died. For years now
this sum had been accumulating interest. So that when Laura and Page
faced the world, alone, upon the steps of the Barrington cemetery, they
had the assurance that, at least, they were independent.

For two years, in the solidly built colonial dwelling, with its low
ceilings and ample fireplaces, where once the minute-men had swung
their kettles, Laura, alone, thought it all over. Mother and father
were dead; even the Boston aunt was dead. Of all her relations, Aunt
Wess' alone remained. Page was at her finishing school at Geneva Lake,
within two hours of Chicago. The Cresslers were the dearest friends of
the orphan girls. Aunt Wess', herself a widow, living also in Chicago,
added her entreaties to Mrs. Cressler's. All things seemed to point her
westward, all things seemed to indicate that one phase of her life was
ended.

Then, too, she had her ambitions. These hardly took definite shape in
her mind; but vaguely she chose to see herself, at some far-distant
day, an actress, a tragedienne, playing the roles of Shakespeare's
heroines. This idea of hers was more a desire than an ambition, but it
could not be realised i