hat they had
awakened no memories; she had dozed off almost as soon as Johnny had
given them to her. The discovery gave Ann Eliza a startled sense of the
ruins that must be piled upon her past. "I don't believe I could have
forgotten that day, though," she said to herself. But she was glad that
Evelina had forgotten.

Evelina's disease moved on along the usual course, now lifting her on a
brief wave of elation, now sinking her to new depths of weakness.
There was little to be done, and the doctor came only at lengthening
intervals. On his way out he always repeated his first friendly
suggestion about sending Evelina to the hospital; and Ann Eliza always
answered: "I guess we can manage."

The hours passed for her with the fierce rapidity that great joy or
anguish lends them. She went through the days with a sternly smiling
precision, but she hardly knew what was happening, and when night-fall
released her from the shop, and she could carry her work to Evelina's
bedside, the same sense of unreality accompanied her, and she still
seemed to be accomplishing a task whose object had escaped her memory.

Once, when Evelina felt better, she expressed a desire to make some
artificial flowers, and Ann Eliza, deluded by this awakening interest,
got out the faded bundles of stems and petals and the little tools and
spools of wire. But after a few minutes the work dropped from Evelina's
hands and she said: "I'll wait until to-morrow."

She never again spoke of the flower-making, but one day, after watching
Ann Eliza's laboured attempt to trim a spring hat for Mrs. Hawkins, she
demanded impatiently that the hat should be brought to her, and in a
trice had galvanized the lifeless bow and given the brim the twist it
needed.

These were rare gleams; and more frequent were the days of speechless
lassitude, when she lay for hours silently staring at the window, shaken
only by the hard incessant cough that sounded to Ann Eliza like the
hammering of nails into a coffin.

At length one morning Ann Eliza, starting up from the mattress at the
foot of the bed, hastily called Miss Mellins down, and ran through the
smoky dawn for the doctor. He came back with her and did what he could
to give Evelina momentary relief; then he went away, promising to
look in again before night. Miss Mellins, her head still covered with
curl-papers, disappeared in his wake, and when the sisters were alone
Evelina beckoned to Ann Eliza.

"You promised," sh