“There ain’t nothin’ new the matter,” she said, in response to Charlotte’s question; “I was thinkin’ about mother; I’m apt to when it comes dusk.”  It was the first deliberate lie that Sylvia Crane had ever told in her life.  She reflected upon it after Charlotte had gone, and reflected also with fierce hardihood that she would lie again were it necessary.  Should she hesitate at a lie if it would cover the maiden reserve that she had cherished so long?

However, Charlotte had suspected more than her aunt knew of the true cause of her agitation.  A similar motive for grief made her acute.  Sylvia, mourning alone of a Sabbath night upon her hair-cloth sofa, struck an old chord of her own heart.  Charlotte dared not say a word to comfort her directly.  She condoled with her for the fifteen-years-old loss of her mother, and did not allude to Richard Alger; but going home she said to herself, with a miserable qualm of pity, that poor Aunt Sylvia was breaking her heart because Richard had stopped coming.

“It’s harder for Aunt Sylvia because she’s older,” thought Charlotte, on her way home that night.  But then she thought also, with a sorer qualm of self-pity, that Sylvia had not quite so long a life before her, to live alone.  Charlotte had nearly reached her own home that night when two figures suddenly slunk across the road before her.  She at once recognized Rebecca Thayer as one of them, and called out “Good-evening, Rebecca!” to her.

Rebecca made only a muttered sound in response, and they both disappeared in the darkness.  There was a look of secrecy and flight about it which somehow startled Charlotte, engrossed as she was with her own troubles and her late encounter with Rose.

When she got into the house she spoke of it to her mother.  Cephas had gone to bed, and Sarah was sitting up waiting for her.

“I met Rebecca and William out here,” said she, untying her hat, “and I thought they acted real queer.”  Sarah cast a glance at the bedroom door, which was ajar, and motioned Charlotte to close it.  Charlotte tiptoed across the room and shut the door softly, lest she should awaken her father; then her mother beckoned her to come close, and whispered something in her ear.

Charlotte started, and a great blush flamed out all over her face and neck.  She looked at her mother with angry shame.  “I don’t believe a word of it,” said she; “not a word of it.”

“I walked home from meetin’ with Mrs. Allen this evenin’,” said her mother, “an’ she says it’s all over town.  She says Rebecca’s been stealin’ out, an’ goin’ to walk with him unbeknownst to her mother all summer.  You know her mother wouldn’t let him come to the house.”

“I don’t believe one word of it,” repeated Charlotte.

“Mis’ Allen says it’s so,” said Sarah.  “She says Mis’ Thayer has had to stay home from evenin’ meetin’ on account of Ephraim—­she don’t like to leave him alone, he ain’t been quite so well lately—­an’ Rebecca has made believe go to meetin’ when she’s been off with William.  Mis’ Thayer went to meetin’ to-night.”