The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

The Gates Ajar. 99
VIII.
May a2
The nearer the time has come for Aunt
Winifred to go, the more it has seemed impossible to part with her. I have run away from
the thought like a craven, till she made me
face it this morning, by saying decidedly that
she should go on the first of the week.
I dropped my sewing; the work-basket
tipped over, and all my spools rolled away
under the chairs. I had a little time to think
while I was picking them up.
" There is the rest of my visit at Norwich to
be made, you know," she said, "and while I
am there I shall form some definite plans for
the summer; I have hardly decided what, yet.
I had better leave here by the seven o'clock
train, if such an early start will not incommode
you.")
I wound up the last spool, and turned away
to the window. There was a confused, dreary
sky of scurrying clouds, and a cold wind was