in Tilly, else she would never have written that letter.
Jane read it twice. The paper rattled in her hands.
"Tilly has moved while I was gone," she said; "I never shall
live in the block again." She dropped her veil over her face.
She sat very quietly in her seat; but the conductor who came
for her ticket watched her sharply, she seemed so dazed by his
demand and was so long in finding the ticket.

The train rumbled and hissed through darkening cornfields,
into scattered yellow lights of low houses, into angles of white
light of street-arcs and shop-windows, into the red and blue
lights dancing before the engines in the station.

"Mother!" cried Tilly's voice.

Jane let her and Harry Lossing take all her bundles and lift her
out of the car. Whether she spoke a word she could not tell.
She did rouse a little at the vision of the Lossing carriage glittering
at the street corner; but she had not the sense to thank Harry Lossing,
who placed her in the carriage and lifted his hat in farewell.

"What's he doing all that for, Tilly?" cried she; "there ain't--
there ain't nobody dead--Maria Carleton ------" She stared
at Tilly wildly.

Tilly was oddly moved, though she tried to speak lightly.
"No, no, there ain't nothing wrong, at all.
It's because you've done so much for the Russians--
and other folks! Now, ma, I'm going to be mysterious.
You must shut your eyes and shut your mouth until I tell you.