rubbers behind her in an unsightly heap, quite heedless of the
confusion of rights and lefts. At last, in a dark corner, behind a blue
chest, she came upon her treasure. Too hurried now for reproaches, she
drew it forth, and with trembling fingers untied the strings. Casting
aside the cover, she produced a huge scoop bonnet of a long-past date,
and setting it on her head, with the same fevered haste, tied over it
the long figured veil destined always to make an inseparable part of
her state array. She snatched her stella shawl from the drawer, threw
it over her shoulders, and ran out of the room.

Miss Dyer was left quite bewildered by these erratic proceedings, but
she had no mind to question them; so many stories were rife in the Home
of the eccentricities embodied in the charitable phrase "Mis' Blair's
way" that she would scarcely have been amazed had her terrible
room-mate chosen to drive a coach and four up the chimney, or saddle
the broom for a midnight revel. She drew a long breath of relief at the
bliss of solitude, closed her eyes, and strove to regain the lost
peace, which, as she vaguely remembered, had belonged to her once in a
shadowy past.

Silence had come, but not to reign. Back flew Mrs. Blair, like a
whirlwind. Her cheeks wore each a little hectic spot; her eyes were
flaming. The figured veil, swept rudely to one side, was borne
backwards on the wind of her coming, and her thin hair, even in those
few seconds, had become wildly disarranged.

"He's gone!" she announced, passionately. "He kep' right on while I was
findin' my bunnit. He come to take the house, an' he'd ha' took me an'
been glad. An' when I got that plaguy front door open, he was jest
drivin' away; an' I might ha' hollered till I was black in the face,