us of the birds,
in a half doze, until seven o'clock. Then she got up and dressed
herself. She peeped cautiously into Evelyn's room. The girl was
sleeping, her long, dark lashes curled upon her wan cheeks. She
looked ghastly, yet still lovely. Maria looked at her, and her mouth
compressed. Then she turned away. She crept noiselessly down the
stairs and into the kitchen where Aunt Maria was preparing breakfast.
The stove smoked a little and the air was blue.

"How is she?" asked Aunt Maria, in a hushed voice.

"She is fast asleep."

"Better let her sleep just as long as she will," said Aunt Maria.
"These exhibitions are pure tomfoolery. She is just tuckered out."

"Yes, I think she is," said Maria.

Aunt Maria looked keenly at her, and her face paled and lengthened.

"Maria Edgham, what on earth is the matter with _you?_" she said.
"You look as bad as she does. Between both of you I am at my wit's
end."

"Nothing ails me," said Maria.

"Nothing ails you? Look at yourself in the glass there."

Maria stole a look at herself in a glass which hung over the
kitchen-table, and she hardly knew her own face, it had gathered such
a strange fixedness of secret purpose. That had altered it more than
her pallor. Maria tried to smile and say again that nothing ailed
her, but she could not. Suddenly a tremendous pity for her aunt came
over her. She had not thought so much about that. But now she looked
at things from her aunt's point of view, and she saw the pain to
which the poor old woman must be put. She saw no way of avoiding the
giving her the pain, but she suffered it herself. She went up to Aunt
Maria and kissed her.

Aunt Maria started back, and rubbed her face violently. "What did you
do that for?" said she, in a frightened voice. Then she noticed
Maria's dress, which was one which she seldom wore unless she was
going out. "What have you got on your brown suit for this morning?"
said she.

"I thought I would go down to the store after breakfast and get some
embroidery silk for that centre-piece," replied Maria.

As she spoke she seemed to realize what a little thing a lie was, and
how odd it was that she should realize it, who had been brought up to
speak the truth.

"Your gingham would have been enough sight better to have worn this
hot morning," said Aunt Maria, still with that air of terror and
suspicion.

"Oh, this dress is light," replied Maria, going out.

"Where are you going now?"

"Into the par