ped back and back until she reached her bedroom.

It was evening; covers were laid for four: Jordan was to take dinner
with them that evening. He came down promptly; Eleanore brought in the
food; but Gertrude was nowhere to be found. Eleanore went in to her. She
was sitting by the cradle, combing her hair with slow deliberation.

"Won't you eat with us, Gertrude?" asked Eleanore.

Gertrude did not seem to hear her. In a few minutes she got up, walked
over to the mirror on the wall, pressed her hair with the palms of her
hands to her two cheeks, and looked in the mirror with wide-opened eyes.

"Come, Gertrude," said Eleanore, rather timidly, "Daniel is waiting."

"That they are in there again," murmured Gertrude, "it seems like a
sin." She turned around, and beckoned to Eleanore.

Eleanore went over to her in perfect obedience. Gertrude threw her arms
around her neck until her left temple touched Eleanore's right one with
only her hair hanging between them like a curtain. Gertrude again looked
in the mirror; her eyes became rigid; she said: "Oh yes, you are more
beautiful, much more beautiful, a hundred times more beautiful."

Just then the child began to stir, and since Gertrude was still standing
immovable before the mirror, Eleanore went to the cradle. Hardly had
Gertrude noticed what she had done, when she rushed out and cried with
terrifying rudeness: "Don't touch that child! Don't touch it, I say!"
She then went up, snatched the child from the cradle, and went back to
her bed with it, saying gently and yet threateningly: "It belongs to me,
to me and to no one else."

Since this incident, Eleanore knew that a fearful change had come over
her sister. She did not know whether other people noticed it; she did
not even know whether Daniel was aware of it. But she knew it, and it
frightened her.

One afternoon, about sunset, Eleanore came in and found Gertrude on her
knees in the hall scrubbing the floor. "You shouldn't do that,
Gertrude," said Eleanore, "you are not strong enough for that kind of
work yet."

Gertrude made no reply; she kept on scrubbing.

"Why don't you dress better?" continued Eleanore; "Daniel does not like
to see you going about in that ugly old brown skirt. Believe me, it
makes him angry."

Gertrude straightened up on her knees, and said with disconcerting
humility: "You dress up; it is not well for two to look so nice. What
shall I do?" she asked, and let her head sink. "You wear your