Emily held out her hand; the kind feeling that had been roused in
her glittered prettily in her eyes. "I am afraid I have not done
you justice," she said. "Will you forgive me and shake hands?"

Miss Jethro rose, and drew back. "Look at the light!" she
exclaimed.

The candle was all burned out. Emily still offered her hand--and
still Miss Jethro refused to see it.

"There is just light enough left," she said, "to show me my way
to the door. Good-night--and good-by."

Emily caught at her dress, and stopped her. "Why won't you shake
hands with me?" she asked.

The wick of the candle fell over in the socket, and left them in
the dark. Emily resolutely held the teacher's dress. With or
without light, she was still bent on making Miss Jethro explain
herself.

They had throughout spoken in guarded tones, fearing to disturb
the sleeping girls. The sudden darkness had its inevitable
effect. Their voices sank to whispers now. "My father's friend,"
Emily pleaded, "is surely my friend?"

"Drop the subject."

"Why?"