behind her, out of the corner of her eyes, as
she turned the landing. Uncle Titus's head was dropped between his
shoulders, and his shoulders were shaking up and down. But he kept
his big stick clutched by the middle, in one hand, and the other
just touched the rail as he went up. Uncle Titus was not out of
breath. Not he. He could laugh and climb.

Desire was sitting up for a little while, before going to bed again
for the night. There was a low gas-light burning by the
dressing-table, ready to turn up when the twilight should be gone;
and a street lamp, just lighted, shone across into the room.
Luclarion had been sitting with her, and her gray knitting-work lay
upon the chair that she offered when she had picked it up, to Mr.
Oldways. Then she went away and left them to their talk.

"Mrs. Ripwinkley has been spry about it," she said to herself, going
softly down the stairs. "But she always was spry."

"You're getting well, I hope," said Uncle Titus, seating himself,
after he had given Desire his hand.

"I suppose so," said Desire, quietly. "That was why I wanted to see
you. I want to know what I ought to do when I am well."

"How can I tell?" asked Uncle Titus, bluntly.

"Better than anybody I can ask. The rest are all too sympathizing. I
am afraid they would tell me as I wish they should."

"And I don't sympathize? Well, I don't think I do much. I haven't
been used to it."

"You have been used to think what was right; and I believe you would
tell me truly. I want to know whether I ought to go to Europe with
my mother."

"Why not? Doesn't she want you to go?"--and Uncle Titus was sharp
this time.

"I suppose so; that is, I suppose she expects I will. But I don't
know that I should be much except a hindrance to her. And I think I
could stay and do something here, in some way. Uncle Titus, I hate
the thought of going to Europe! Now, don't you suppose I ought to
go?"

"_Why_ do you hate the thought of going to Europe?" asked Uncle
Titus, regarding her with keenness.

"Because I have never done anything real in all my life!" broke
forth Desire. "And this seems only plastering and patching what
can't be patched. I want to take hold of something. I don't want to
float round any more. What is there left of all we have ever tried
to do, all these years? Of all my poor father's work, what is there
to show for it now? It has all melted away as fast as it came, like
snow on pavements; and now his life has melted