could not afford a carriage, and
she would not trust herself in a street car. She knew her own head
and her old muscles; she could allow for their limitations, and
preferred to rely upon them.

Every few steps she stopped and asked a question as to her route,
listening sharply to the reply. Then she went straight enough,
speeding between the informers like guide-posts. This old provincial
threaded the city streets as unappreciatively as she had that morning
the country one. Once in a while the magnificence of some shop
window, a dark flash of jet, or a flutter of lace on a woman's dress
caught her eye, but she did not see it. She had nothing in common
with anything of that kind; she had to do with the primal facts of
life. Coming as she was out of the country quiet, she was quite
unmoved by the thundering rush of the city streets. She might have
been deaf and blind for all the impression it had upon her. Her own
nature had grown so intense that it apparently had emanations, and
surrounded her with an atmosphere of her own impenetrable to the
world.

It was nearly five o'clock when she reached her station, and the
train was ready. It was half-past five when she arrived in Elliot.
She got off the train and stalked, as if with a definite object,
around the depot platform. She did not for one second hesitate or
falter. She went up to a man who was loading some trunks on a wagon,
and asked him to direct her to Lawyer Tuxbury's office. Her voice was
so abrupt and harsh that the man started.

"Cross the track, an' go up the street till you come to it, on the
right-hand side," he answered. Then he stared curiously after her as
she went on.

Lawyer Tuxbury's small neat sign was fastened upon the door of the L
of a large white house. There was a green yard, and some newly
started flower-beds. In one there was a clump of yellow daffodils.
Two yellow-haired little girls were playing out in the yard. They
both stood still, staring with large, wary blue eyes at Mrs. Field as
she came up the path. She never glanced toward them.

She stood like a black-draped statue before the office door, and
knocked. Nobody answered.

She knocked again louder. Then a voice responded "Come in." Mrs.
Field turned the knob carefully, and opened the door. It led directly
into the room. There was a dull oil-cloth carpet, some beetling cases
of heavy books, a few old arm-chairs, and one battered leather
easy-chair. A great desk stood against the