It was a cold night in September. For three days the rain had fallen
almost unceasingly. It had been impossible for us to get out; and no
visitors had been in. Everything looked dreary enough, and we felt so,
truly. Of course the stoves were not prepared for use; and this night
we (that is, Nell, Floy, Aunt Edna, and myself) were huddled in the
corners of the sofa and arm-chairs, wrapped in our shawls. We were at
our wits' end for something to while the hours away. We had read
everything that was readable; played until we fancied the piano sent
forth a wail of complaint, and begged for rest; were at the backgammon
board until our arms ached; and I had given imitations of celebrated
actresses, until I was hoarse, and Nell declared I was in danger of
being sued for scandal. What more could we do? To dispel the
drowsiness that was stealing over me, I got up, walked up and down the
floor, and then drew up the blind, and gazed out into the deserted
street. Not a footfall to be heard, neither man's nor beast's; nothing
but patter, patter, patter. At length, after standing fully fifteen
minutes--oh, joyful sound!--a coming footstep, firm and quick. My
first thought was that those steps would stop at our door. But,
directly after, I felt that very improbable, for who was there that
_would_ come such a night? Papa was up north with mamma; Nell and
Floy were visiting Aunt Edna and me, the only ones home, save the
servants. Neither of us had as yet a lover so devoted or so demented
as to come out, if he had anywhere to _stay in_.

On and past went the steps. Turning away, I drew down the blind, and
said: "Some one must be ill, and that was the doctor, surely: for no
one else would go out, only those from direst necessity sent."

A deep sigh escaped Aunt Edna's lips, and although partially shaded by
her hand, I could see the shadow on the beautiful face had deepened.