Emma nodded; the expression of horror on her face had deepened.

"Do you remember that time he killed the cat because she had
scratched him?"

"Yes. Don't!"

Then Caroline reentered the room. She went up to the stove in
which a wood fire was burning--it was a cold, gloomy day of fall--
and she warmed her hands, which were reddened from recent washing
in cold water.

Mrs. Brigham looked at her and hesitated. She glanced at the door,
which was still ajar, as it did not easily shut, being still
swollen with the damp weather of the summer. She rose and pushed
it together with a sharp thud which jarred the house. Rebecca
started painfully with a half exclamation. Caroline looked at her
disapprovingly.

"It is time you controlled your nerves, Rebecca," said she.

"I can't help it," replied Rebecca with almost a wail. "I am
nervous. There's enough to make me so, the Lord knows."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Caroline with her old air of
sharp suspicion, and something between challenge and dread of its
being met.

Rebecca shrank.