At the appointed time, the glacier gave up its dead, in perfect preservation, owing to the intense cold.  But the woman who had waited for her husband thus was twenty-three years older; she had aged, and he was still young.  In some such way had Anthony Dexter come back to her; eager, boyish, knowing none of life except its joy, while she, a quarter of a century older, had borne incredible griefs, been wasted by long vigils, and now stood, desolate, at the tomb of a love which was not dead, but continually tore at its winding sheet and prayed for release.

To Evelina, at times, the past twenty-five years seemed like a long nightmare.  This was Anthony Dexter—­this boy with the quick, light step, the ringing laugh, the broad shoulders and clear, true eyes.  No terror lay between them, all was straight and right; yet the realisation still enshrouded her like a black cloud.

“And,” said Miss Hitty, mournfully, “after ail my patience and hard work in bringing up Araminta as a lady should be brought up, and having taught her to beware of men and even of boys, she’s took away from me when she’s sick, and nobody allowed to see her except a blackmailing play-doctor, who is putting Heaven knows what devilment into her head.  I suppose there’s nothing to prevent me from finishing the housecleaning, if I don’t speak to my own niece as I pass her door?”

She spoke inquiringly, but Miss Evelina did not reply.

“Most folks,” continued Miss Hitty, with asperity, “is pleased enough to have their houses cleaned for ’em to say ‘thank you,’ but I’m some accustomed to ingratitude.  What I do now in the way of cleanin’ will be payin’ for the nursin’ of Araminta.”

Still Miss Evelina did not answer, her thoughts being far away.

“Maybe I did speak cross to Minty,” admitted Miss Hitty, grudgingly, “at a time when I had no business to.  If I did, I’m willin’ to tell her so, but not that blackmailing play-doctor with a hundred-dollar bill for a club.  I was clean out of patience with Minty for falling off the ladder, but I guess, as he says, she didn’t go for to do it.  ’T ain’t in reason for folks to step off ladders or out of windows unless they’re walkin’ in their sleep, and I’ve never let Minty sleep in the daytime.”

Unceasingly, Miss Mehitable prattled on.  Reminiscence, anecdote, and philosophical observations succeeded one another with startling rapidity, ending always in vituperation and epithet directed toward Araminta’s physician.  Dark allusions to the base ingratitude of everybody with whom Miss Hitty had ever been concerned alternately cumbered her speech.  At length the persistent sound wore upon Miss Evelina, much as the vibration of sound may distress one totally deaf.

The kitchen door was open and Miss Evelina went outdoors.  Miss Mehitable continued to converse, then shortly perceived that she was alone.  “Well, I never!” she gasped.  “Guess I’ll go home!”