“Where’s Maria gone?” said Aunt Maria, finally, in a voice which seemed to have an edge to it.

Then Lily spoke with soft and timid volubility.  “Maria said her head ached so she thought she had better go to bed, Miss Stillman,” she said.

“I didn’t hear anything about any headache before I went away.  Must have come on mighty sudden,” said Aunt Maria.

“She said it ached very hard,” repeated Lily.  “And when the door-bell rang, when Mr. Ramsey came—­”

“It’s mighty queer she should have had a headache when George Ramsey rang the door-bell,” said Aunt Maria.

“I guess it must have ached before,” said Lily, faintly.

“I should suppose it must have,” Aunt Maria said, sarcastically.  “I don’t see any reason why Maria’s head should begin to ache when the door-bell rang.”

“Of course,” said Lily.  “I suppose she just felt she couldn’t talk, that was all.”

“It’s mighty queer,” said Aunt Maria.  She stood quite immovable.  She was so stern that even her rakishly tipped bonnet did not seem at all funny.  She looked at Lily and George Ramsey, and did not make a movement to remove her wraps.

Lily took a little, faltering step towards her.  “You are all covered with snow, Miss Stillman,” she said, in her sweet voice.

“I don’t mind a little snow,” said Aunt Maria.

“Won’t you take this chair?” asked George Ramsey, pointing to the one which he had just vacated.

“No, thank you,” replied Aunt Maria.  “I ain’t going to sit down.  I’ve got on my best black silk, and I don’t ever sit down in it when I can help it.  I’m going to take it off and go to bed.”

Then George Ramsey immediately made a movement towards his coat and hat, which lay on the lounge beside Lily’s wraps.  “Well,” he said, with an attempt to laugh and be easy, “I must be going.  I have to take an early car to-morrow.”

“I must go, too,” said Lily.

They both hustled on their outer garments.  They said good-evening when they went out, but Aunt Maria did not reply.  She immediately took off Maria’s water-proof and her bonnet, and slipped off her best black silk gown.  Then she took the little lamp which was lighted in the kitchen and went up-stairs to Maria’s room.  She had an old shawl over her shoulders, otherwise she was in her black quilted petticoat.  She stepped softly, and entered the spare room opposite Maria’s.  It was icy cold in there.  She set the lamp on the bureau and went out, closing the door softly.  It was then quite dark in the little passageway between the spare room and Maria’s.  Aunt Maria stood looking sharply at Maria’s door, especially at the threshold, which was separated from the floor quite a space by the shrinkage of the years.  The panels, too, had their crevices, through which light might be seen.  It was entirely dark.  Aunt Maria opened the door of the spare room very softly and got the little lamp off the bureau, and tiptoed down-stairs.  Then she sat down before the sitting-room stove and pulled up her quilted petticoat till her thin legs were exposed, to warm herself and not injure the petticoat.  She looked unutterably stern and weary.  Suddenly, as she sat there, tears began to roll over her ascetic cheeks.