as damp as the study, and I have a cold."

So they all sat in the south room with their sewing. Henry read
the newspaper, his chair drawn close to the lamp on the table.
About nine o'clock he rose abruptly and crossed the hall to the
study. The three sisters looked at one another. Mrs. Brigham
rose, folded her rustling skirts compactly around her, and began
tiptoeing toward the door.

"What are you going to do?" inquired Rebecca agitatedly.

"I am going to see what he is about," replied Mrs. Brigham
cautiously.

She pointed as she spoke to the study door across the hall; it was
ajar. Henry had striven to pull it together behind him, but it had
somehow swollen beyond the limit with curious speed. It was still
ajar and a streak of light showed from top to bottom. The hall
lamp was not lit.

"You had better stay where you are," said Caroline with guarded
sharpness.

"I am going to see," repeated Mrs. Brigham firmly.

Then she folded her skirts so tightly that her bulk with its
swelling curves was revealed in a black silk sheath, and she went
with a slow toddle across the hall to the study door. She stood
there, her eye at the crack.