that request--a strange request surely, when there were chairs at
her disposal.

Emily made room for her with the dazed look of a girl in a dream.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Jethro, one of the things I can't endure
is being puzzled. If you don't mean to report us, why did you
come in and catch me with the light?"

Miss Jethro's explanation was far from relieving the perplexity
which her conduct had caused.

"I have been mean enough," she answered, "to listen at the door,
and I heard you talking of your father. I want to hear more about
him. That is why I came in."

"You knew my father!" Emily exclaimed.

"I believe I knew him. But his name is so common--there are so
many thousands of 'James Browns' in England--that I am in fear of
making a mistake. I heard you say that he died nearly four years
since. Can you mention any particulars which might help to
enlighten me? If you think I am taking a liberty--"

Emily stopped her. "I would help you if I could," she said. "But
I was in poor health at the time; and I was staying with friends
far away in Scotland, to try change of air. The news of my
father's death brought on a relapse. Weeks passed before I was
strong enough to travel--weeks and weeks before I saw his grave!
I can only tell you what I know from my aunt. He died of
heart-complaint."