How it happened that, in spite of the strict interdict laid upon all visitors at Mrs. Tree's house, Tommy Candy found his way in, nobody knows to this day. Direxia Hawkes found him in the front entry one afternoon, and pounced upon him with fury. The boy showed every sign of guilt and terror, but refused to say why he had come or what he wanted. As he was hustled out of the door a voice from above was heard to cry, "The ivory elephant for your own, mind, and a box of the kind with nuts in it!" Sometimes Jocko could imitate his mistress's voice to perfection.

Mrs. Weight, whom the news of Mrs. Tree's actual illness had wrought to a fever-pitch of observation, saw the boy come out, and carried the word at once to Mrs. Pryor; in ten minutes that lady was at the door clamoring for entrance. Direxia, her apron at her eyes, was firm, but evidently in distress.

"She's took to her bed!" she said. "I darsn't let you in; it'd be as much as my life is wuth and her'n too, the state she's in. I think she's out of her head, Mis' Pryor. There! she's singin' this minute; do hear her! Oh, my poor lady! I wish Doctor Stedman would come!"

Over the stairs came floating, in a high-pitched thread of voice, a scrap of eldritch song:

Mrs. Pryor hastened back and told Miss Vesta that their aunt was delirious, and had probably but a few hours to live. Poor Miss Vesta! she would have broken through any interdict and flown to her aunt's side; but she herself was housed with a heavy, feverish cold, and Doctor Stedman's commands were absolute. "You may say what you like to your friend," he said, "but you must obey your physician. I know what I am about, and I forbid you to leave the house!"

At these words Miss Vesta leaned back on her sofa-pillow with a gentle sigh. James did know what he was about, of course; and—since he had privately assured her that he did not consider Mrs. Tree in any danger, and since she really felt quite unable to stand, much less to go out—it was very comfortable to be absolutely forbidden to do so. Still it was not a pleasant day for Miss Vesta. Mrs. Pryor never left her side, declaring that this duty at least she could and would perform, and Vesta might be assured she would never desert her; and the stream of talk about the Darracott blood, the family portraits, and the astonishing moral obliquity of most persons except Mrs. Pryor herself, flowed on and around and over Miss Vesta's aching head till she felt that she was floating away on waves of the fluid which is thicker than water.

In the afternoon a bolt fell. It was about five o'clock, near the time for Doctor Stedman's daily visit, when the door flew open without knock or ring, and Tragedy appeared on the threshold in the person of Mrs. Malvina Weight. Speechless, she stood in the doorway and beckoned. She had been running, a method of locomotion for which nature had not intended her; her breath came in quick gasps, and her face was as the face of a Savoy cabbage.

"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "What is the matter, Malvina?"

"She's gone!" gasped Mrs. Weight.

"Who's gone? Do speak up! What do you mean, Malvina Weight?"

"Mis' Tree! there's crape on the door. I see it—three minutes ago—with these eyes! I run all the way—just as I was; I've got my death, I expect—palpitations—I had to come. She's gone in her sins! Oh, girls, ain't it awful?"

Miss Vesta, pale and trembling, tried to rise, but fell back on the sofa.

"James!" she said, faintly; "where is James Stedman?"

"Stay where you are, Vesta Blyth!" cried Mrs. Pryor. "I will send for Doctor Stedman; I will attend to everything. I am going to the house myself this instant. Here, Diploma! come and take care of your mistress! cologne, salts, whatever you have. I must fly!"

And as a hen flies, fluttering and cackling, so did Mrs. Pryor flutter and cackle, up the street, with Mrs. Weight, still breathless, pounding and gasping in her wake.

"For the land's sake, what is the matter?" asked Diploma Crotty, appearing in the parlor doorway with a flushed cheek and floury hands. "Miss Vesty, I give you to understand that I ain't goin' to be called from my bread by no—my dear heart alive! what has happened?"

Miss Vesta put her hand to her throat.

"My aunt, Diploma!" she whispered. "She—Mrs. Weight says there is crape on the door. I—I seem to have lost my strength. Oh, where is Doctor Stedman?"

A brown, horrified face looked for an instant over Diploma's shoulder; the face of Direxia Hawkes, who had come in search of something her mistress wanted, leaving the second maid in charge of her patient; it vanished, and another figure scurried up the street, breathless with fear and wonder.

"You lay down, Miss Vesty!" commanded Diploma. "Lay down this minute, that's a good girl. Whoever's dead, you ain't, and I don't want you should. There! Here comes Doctor Stedman this minute. I'll run and let him in. Oh, Doctor Stedman, it ain't true, is it?"

"Probably not," said Doctor Stedman. "What is it?"

"Ain't you been at Mis' Tree's?"

"No, I am going there now. I have been out in the country. What is the matter?"

"James!" cried Miss Vesta's voice.

The sound of it struck the physician's ear; he looked at Diploma.

"What has happened?"

"Go in! go in and see her!" whispered the old woman. "They say Mis' Tree's dead; I dono; but go in, do, there's a good soul!"

"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta, and she held out both hands, trembling with fever and distress. "I am so glad you have come. James! Aunt Marcia is dead; there is crape on her door. Did you know? Were you with her? Oh, James, I am all alone now. I am all alone in the world!"

"Never, while I am alive!" said James Stedman, catching the little trembling hands in his. "Look up, Vesta! Cheer up, my dear! You can never be alone while I am in the same world with you. If your aunt is indeed dead, then you belong to me, Vesta; why, you know you do, you foolish little woman. There! there! stop trembling. My dear, did you think I would let you be really alone for five minutes?"

"Oh, James!" cried Miss Vesta. "Consider our age! Sister Phoebe—"

"I do consider our age," said Doctor Stedman. "It is just what I consider. We have no more time to waste. And Phoebe is not here. Here, drink this, my dear love! Now let me tuck you up again while I go and see what all this is about. Who told you Mrs. Tree was dead? She was alive enough this morning."

"Mrs. Weight. She saw the crape on the door, and came straight here to tell us. It was thoughtful, James, but so sudden, and you were not here. Maria has gone up there now. Oh, my poor Aunt Marcia!"

"Hum!" said Doctor Stedman. "Mrs. Weight and Mrs. Pryor, eh? A precious pair! Well, I will soon find out the truth and let you know. Good-by, little woman!"

"Oh, James!" said Miss Vesta, "do you really think—"

"I don't think, I know!" said James Stedman. "Good-by, my Vesta!"

Sure enough, there was crape on the door of Mrs. Tree's house—a long rusty streamer. It hung motionless in the quiet evening air, eloquent of many things.

The door itself was unlocked, and Mrs. Pryor tumbled in headlong, with Mrs. Weight at her heels. Both women were too breathless to speak. They rushed into the parlor, and stood there, literally mopping and mowing at each other, handkerchief in hand.

Something about the air of the little room seemed to arrest the frenzied rush of their curiosity. Yet all was as usual: the dim, antique richness, the warm scent of the fragrant woods, the living presence—was it the only presence?—of the fire on the hearth. Even when the two had recovered their breath, neither spoke for some minutes, and it was only when a brand broke and fell forward in tinkling red coals on the marble hearth that Mrs. Pryor found her voice.

"I declare, Malvina, I feel as if there were some one in this room. I never was in it without Aunt Marcia, and it seems as if she must come in this minute."

"Pretty smart, to be able to sit and stand up at once, at my age, Direxia!" replied Mrs. Tree, composedly. "Tommy is a naughty boy, certainly, but I shall not prosecute him this time. You old goose, I told him to do it!"

"You—oh, my Solemn Deliverance! she's gone clean out of her wits this time, and there's an end of it. Oh! my gracious, Mis' Tree—if the Lord ain't good, and sent Doctor Stedman just this minute of time! Oh, Doctor Stedman, I'm glad you've come. She's settin' here in her cheer, ravin' distracted."

"How do you do, James?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am quite in my senses, thank you, and I mean to live to a hundred."

"My dear old friend," cried James Stedman, taking the tiny withered hands in his and kissing them, "I wish you might live for ever; but I can never thank you enough for having been dead for half an hour. It has made me the happiest man in the world. I am going to tell Vesta this moment. It is never too late to be happy, is it, Mrs. Tree? Mayn't I say 'Aunt Tree' now?"

"It's all right, is it?" said Mrs. Tree. "I am glad to hear it. Vesta has not much sense, James, but then, I never thought you had too much, and she is as good as gold. I wish you both joy, and I shall come to the wedding. Now, Direxia Hawkes, what are you crying about, I should like to know? Doctor Stedman and Miss Vesta are going to be married, and high time, too. Is that anything to cry about?"

"She is the beat of all!" cried Direxia Hawkes, through her tears, which she was wiping recklessly with a valuable lace tidy.

"Fust she was dead and then she warn't, and then she was crazy and now she ain't, and I can't stand no more. I'm clean tuckered out!"

"Cat's foot!" said Mrs. Tree.