[Illustration:  AT CYNTHY’S DOOR.]

“Cynthy!  Cynthy Ann!” she said, standing by the bed in the little bare room which Cynthy Ann had occupied, for five years, but into which she had made no endeavor to bring one ray of sentiment or one trace of beauty.

“Cynthy!  Cynthy Ann!”

Had Cynthy Ann slept anywhere but in the L of the house, her shriek—­what woman could have helped shrieking a little when startled?—­her shriek must have alarmed the family.  But it did not.  “Why, child! what are you doing here?  You are out of your head, and you must go back to your room at once.”  And Cynthy had arisen and was already tugging at Julia’s arm.

“I a’n’t out of my head, Cynthy Ann, and I won’t go back to my room—­not until I have had a talk with you.”

“What is the matter, Jule?” said Cynthy, sitting on the bed and preparing to begin again her old fight between duty and inclination.  Cynthy always expected temptation.  She had often said in class-meeting that temptations abounded on every hand, and as soon as Julia told her she had a communication to make, Cynthy Ann was sure that she would find in it some temptation of the devil to do something she “hadn’t orter do,” according to the Bible or the Dis_cip_line, strictly construed.  And Cynthy was a “strict constructionist.”

Julia did not find it so easy to say anything now that she had announced herself as determined to have a conversation and now that her auditor was waiting.  It is the worst beginning in the world for a conversation, saying that you intend to converse.  When an Indian has announced his intention of having a “big talk,” he immediately lights his pipe and relapses into silence until the big talk shall break out accidentally and naturally.  But Julia, having neither the pipe nor the Indian’s stolidity, found herself under the necessity of beginning abruptly.  Every minute of delay made her position worse.  For every minute increased her doubt of Cynthy Ann’s sympathy.

“O Cynthy Ann!  I’m so miserable!”

“Yes, I told your ma this morning that you was looking mis’able, and that you had orter have sassafras to purify the blood, but your ma is so took up with steam-docterin’ that she don’t believe in nothin’ but corn-sweats and such like.”

“Oh! but, Cynthy, it a’n’t that.  I’m miserable in my mind.  I wish I knew what to do.”

“I thought you’d made up your mind.  Your ma told me you was engaged to Mr. Humphreys.”

Julia was appalled.  How fast the spider spins his web!

“I a’n’t engaged to him, and I hate him.  He got me to say yes when I was crazy, and I believe he brought about the things that make me feel so nigh crazy.  Do you think he’s a good man, Cynthy Ann?”