rd
me. She was so absorbed she did not see me as I darted past the
folding-doors into the hall. As I flew panting up to my own room, I
remember one feeling above all others, the first feeling of affection
toward the house that I had ever had. It was mine no longer, my home
never again; I had no right to stay in it a moment: my own room was not
mine any more--the room where I had learned to pray, and to try to lead
a good life--the room where I had lain when I was so near to death--the
room where Sister Madeline had led me to such peaceful, quiet thoughts.
I had but one wish now, not to see Richard, to escape Sophie, to get
away forever from this house to which I had no right. I pulled down my
hat and my street things, and dressed so quickly, that I had slipped
down the stairs, and out into the street, before they had ceased talking
in the parlor. I heard their voices, very low, as I passed through the
hall. I fully meant never to come back to the house again--not to be
turned out.

My heart swelled as the door closed behind me. It was dreadful not to
have a home. I was so unused to being in the street alone, that I felt
frightened when I reached the cars and stopped them.

I was going to Sister Madeline. She would take me, and keep me, and
teach me where to live, and how. I was a little confused, and got out at
the wrong street, and had to walk several blocks before I reached
the house.

The servant at the door met me with an answer that made me wonder
whether there were anything else to happen to me on that day.

Sister Madeline had been called away--had gone on a long
journey--something about the illness of her brother; and I must not come
inside the door, for a contagious disease was raging, and the orders
were strict that no one be admitted. I had walked so fast, and in such
excitement of feeling, that I was weak and faint when I turned to go
down the steps. Where should I go? I walked on slowly now, and
undecided, for I had no aim.

The clergyman to whom I had gone for direction in matters spiritual, was
ill--for two weeks had given up even Lenten duties. Anything--but I
could not go home, or rather where home had been. I walked and walked
till I was almost fainting, and found myself in the Park. There the
lovely indications of spring, and the quiet, and the fresh air, soothed
me, and I sat down under some trees near the water, and rested myself.
But the same giddy whirl of thoughts came back, the same incomp