The supper was in Mrs. Landholm’s old kitchen; they two alone at the table.  Perhaps Elizabeth thought of the old time, perhaps her thoughts had enough to do with the present; she was silent, grave and stern, not wanting in any kind care nevertheless.  Rose took tears and bread and butter by turns; and then sat with her face in her handkerchief all the evening.  It seemed a very, very long evening to her hostess, whose face bespoke her more tired, weary, and grave, with every succeeding half hour.  Why was this companion, whose company of all others she least loved, to be yet her sole and only companion, of all the world?  Elizabeth by turns fretted and by turns scolded herself for being ungrateful, since she confessed that even Rose was better for her than to be utterly alone.  Yet Rose was a blessing that greatly irritated her composure and peace of mind.  So the evening literally wore away.  But when at last Rose was kissing her hostess for good night, between sobs she stammered, “I am very glad to be here Lizzie, —­ it seems like being at home again.”

Elizabeth gave her no answer besides the answering kiss; but her eyes filled full at that, and as soon as she reached her own room the tears came in long and swift flow, but sweeter and gentler and softer than they had flowed lately.  And very thankful that she had done right, very soothed and refreshed that her right doing had promised to work good, she laid herself down to sleep.

But her eyes had hardly closed when the click of her door-latch made them open again.  Rose’s pretty night-cap was presenting itself.

“Lizzie! —­ aren’t you afraid without a man in the house?”

“There is a man in the house.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.  Anderese —­ Karen’s brother.”

“But he is old.”

“He’s a man.”

“But aren’t you ever afraid?”

“It’s no use to be afraid,” said Elizabeth.  “I am accustomed to it.  I don’t often think of it.”

“I heard such queer noises,” said Rose whispering.  “I didn’t think of anything before, either.  May I come in here?”

“It’s of no use, Rose,” said Elizabeth.  “You would be just as much afraid to-morrow night.  There is nothing in the world to be afraid of.”

Rose slowly took her night-cap away and Elizabeth’s head went down on her pillow.  But her closing eyes opened again at the click of the latch of the other door.

“Miss ’Lizabeth! —­”

“Well, Clam? —­”

“Karen’s all alive, and says she ain’t goin’ to live no longer.”

“What! —­”

“Karen.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Maybe she’s goin’, as she says she is; but I think maybe she ain’t.”

“Where is she?” said Elizabeth jumping up.

“In here,” said Clam.  “She won’t die out of the kitchen.”

Elizabeth threw on her dressing-gown and hurried out; thinking by the way that she had got into a thorn forest of difficulties, and wishing the daylight would look through.  Karen was sitting before the fire, wrapped up in shawls, in the rocking-chair.