tinsel plumage, ready for
instant flight. They knew that the end of one of their coterie was
near, and yet they chatted in low tones of things pertaining to their
walk of life and this and that off-color gossip. Now and then a smile
slipped its frail fetters and died of its own rebuke.

Under various and startled excuses they declined Lizzie's hint that they
come back after dark and sit the night through at the dying woman's
bedside. So that night, when Mandy left for her home, saying that she
could not possibly stay away from Jake and the children, Lizzie found
herself quite marooned with Jane and certain memories which she could
not combat.

Why she did it she could not have explained, but she took her lamp and
went to John's old room at the end of the house, and stood looking
about. Tacked to the wall were some diagrams he had drawn; and on the
dusty table lay a coverless arithmetic, a dog-eared algebra, an English
grammar, and pen, ink, paper, stubs of pencils, a worn tape-line, and on
the wall hung a soiled shirt, a discarded gray vest, a pair of old
trousers, and a dented derby hat. Lizzie lowered the lamp to the table
and sat down in the only chair in the room. A pair of John's old shoes
peeped out at her from beneath the narrow bed. Lizzie sat there for an
hour or more. She was tearless, but a vast reservoir of tears seemed
backed up within her, and certain inward dams threatened to burst. John
no longer seemed the gawky workman of his later days, but the neglected
though attractive child who used to romp noisily through the house and
stare at her and her friends with such innocent and prattling blandness.
And he was dead, actually dead! Lizzie mused thus for a while, and then
began to grow angry. People were saying that she had caused his death by
separating his wife from him and driving him away. They were saying,
too, those meddlesome fools! that he had tried to rescue a child from
sheer contamination by her, and had lost his life in the attempt. John's
father, if he were alive--but she mustn't think of him. No, she had
given that over long ago. But to-night John's father, as a discarnate
entity of some sort, seemed to haunt the dead silence of the house to
which he had brought her so hopefully. The all-pervading gloom seemed to
palpitate with his demand for the restoration to life and happiness of
his son. Was she losing her mind? Lizzie wondered. She never could have
imagined that such an hour as this cou