heavy cures her great grief
was to be pressed down into a subdued under-current, no longer to be
indulged or made much of even by herself.

Anne knew but little of her grandaunt. William Douglas would not speak
of what was the most bitter memory of his life. The address in the old
note-book, in her mother's unformed girlish handwriting, was her only
guide. She knew that Miss Vanhorn was obstinate and ill-tempered; she
knew that she had discarded her mother on account of her disobedient
marriage, and had remained harsh and unforgiving to the last. And this
was all she knew. But she had no choice. Hoping, praying for the best,
she wrote her letter, and sent it on its way. Then they all waited. For
Pere Michaux had been taken into the conference also, and had given
hearty approval to Anne's idea--so hearty, indeed, that both the
chaplain and Miss Lois looked upon him with disfavor. What did he mean?
He did not say what he meant, but returned to his hermitage cheerfully.
Dr. Gaston, not so cheerfully, brought out his hardest chess problems,
and tried to pass away the time in mathematical combinations of the
deepest kind. Miss Lois, however, had combinations at hand of another
sort. No sooner was the letter gone than she advanced a series of
conjectures which did honor even to her New England origin.

The first was that Miss Vanhorn had gone abroad: those old New-Yorkers
were "capable of wishing to ride on camels, even"; she added, from
habit, "through the eye of a needle." The next day she decided that
paralysis would be the trouble: those old New-Yorkers were "often
stricken down in that way, owing to their high living and desperate
wine-bibbing." Anne need give no more thought to her letter; Miss
Vanhorn would not be able even to read it. The third day, Miss Vanhorn
would read the letter, but would immediately throw it on the floor and
stamp on it: those old New-Yorkers "had terrible tempers," and were
"known to swear like troopers even on the slightest provocation." The
fourth day, Miss Vanhorn was mad; the fifth day, she was married; the
sixth, she was dead: those old New-Yorkers having tendencies toward
insanity, matrimony, and death which, Miss Lois averred, were known to
all the world, and indisputable. That she herself had never been in New
York in her life made no difference in her certainties: women like Miss
Lois are always sure they know all about New York.

Anne, weary and anxious, and forced to hear all thes