“How long are you going to stay here, Lizzie?”

“I don’t know.”

“How is that old woman?”

“I don’t know.  There don’t seem to be much difference from one day to another.”

“What ails her?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose it is as the doctor says, —­ that there is a general breaking up of nature.”

“Is she going to live long?”

“I don’t know.  He said probably not.”

“Well, who’s going to take care of her?”

“She is taken care of.  There is a woman here from Mountain Spring, to do all that is necessary.”

“Why must we stay here, Lizzie? —­ it’s so dismal.”

“We mustn’t —­ I must.”

“Why?”

“I would rather —­ and I think it is right.”

“To take care of that old woman?”

“No —­ I can’t do much for her —­ but I can see that she is taken care of.”

“But how would she have done if you had never come here?”

“I don’t know.  I don’t know what that has to do with it, seeing that I am here.”

“You wouldn’t stay for her now, if she wasn’t somebody’s old nurse.”

Elizabeth did not answer.

“But how long do you mean to stay here, Lizzie? —­ any how?”

“Till I must go —­ till it is less pleasant here than somewhere else.”

“And when will you think that?”

“Not for a good while.”

“But when, Lizzie?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose when the cold weather comes in earnest.”

“I’m sure it has come now!” said Rose shrugging her shoulders.  “I’m shivering every morning after the fire goes out.  What sort of cold weather do you mean?”

“I mean snow and ice.”

“Snow and ice —­ And then you will go —­ where will you go?” said Rose discontentedly.

“I suppose, to Mannahatta.”

“Will you go the first snow?”

“I cannot tell yet, Rose.”

There was a pause.  Elizabeth had not stirred from her position.  Her head rested yet on her hand, her eyes looked steadily out of the window.

“It will seem so lonely there!” said Rose whimpering.

“Yes! —­ more lonely than here.”

“I meant in the house.  But there one can get out and see some one.”

“There isn’t a soul in Mannahatta I care to see.”

“Lizzie! —­”

“Not that I know of.”

“Lizzie! —­ Mr. Landholm?”

“I mean, not one that I am like to see.”

“What do you go to Mannahatta for, then?” said Rose unbelievingly.

“One must be somewhere, to do something in the world.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know —­ I suppose I shall find my work.”

“Work? —­ what work?” —­ said Rose wonderingly.

“I don’t know yet, Rose.  But everybody has something to do in the world —­ so I have, —­ and you have.”

“I haven’t anything.  What have we to do, except what we like to do?”