hear all, and thank you for every kindness you have shown him,--and I
do believe you've showed him kindness,--though I don't know why."

Susan moved heavily and strangely.

She said something--her words came thick and unintelligible. She had
had a paralytic stroke since she had last spoken. She could not go,
even if she would. Nor did Eleanor, when she became aware of the
state of the case, wish her to leave. She had her laid on her own
bed, and weeping silently all the while for her lest husband, she
nursed Susan like a sister. She did not know what her guest's
worldly position might be; and she might never be repaid. But she
sold many a little trifle to purchase such small comforts as Susan
needed. Susan, lying still and motionless, learnt much. It was not
a severe stroke; it might be the forerunner of others yet to come,
but at some distance of time. But for the present she recovered, and
regained much of her former health. On her sick-bed she matured her
plans. When she returned to Yew Nook, she took Michael Hurst's widow
and children with her to live there, and fill up the haunted hearth
with living forms that should banish the ghosts.

And so it fell out that the latter days of Susan Dixon's life were
better than the former.