Slowly, with many pauses for breath and composure, Miss Rejoice told
her story. It was short enough. Melody had been sitting with her,
reading aloud from the great book which now lay face downward on the
floor by the window. Milton's "Paradise Lost" it was, and Rejoice Dale
could never bear to hear the book named in her life after this time. A
carriage drove up and stopped at the door, and Melody went out to see
who had come. As she went, she said, "It is a strange wagon; I have
never heard it before." They both supposed it some stranger who had
stopped to ask for a glass of water, as people often did, driving
through the village on their way to the mountains. The sick woman
heard a man speaking, in smooth, soft tones; she caught the words: "A
little drive--fine afternoon;" and Melody's clear voice replying, "No,
thank you, sir; you are very kind, but my aunt and I are alone, and I
could not leave her. Shall I bring you a glass of water?" Then--oh,
then--there was a sound of steps, a startled murmur in the beloved
voice, and then a scream. Oh, such a scream! Rejoice Dale shrank down
in her bed, and cried out herself in agony at the memory of it. She
had called, she had shrieked aloud, the helpless creature, and her
only answer was another cry of anguish: "Help! help! Auntie! Doctor!
Rosin! Oh, Rosin, Rosin, help!" Then the cry was muffled, stifled,
sank away into dreadful silence; the wagon drove off, and all was
over. Rejoice Dale found herself on the floor, dragging herself along
on her elbows. Paralyzed from the waist down, the body was a weary
weight to drag, but she clutched at a chair, a table; gained a little
way at each movement; thought she was nearly at the door, when sense
and strength failed, and she knew nothing more till she saw her sister
and the doctor bending over her.

Then Miss Vesta, very pale, with lips that trembled, and voice that