The gates ajar. By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps.

230 The Gates Ajar.
"Shall Phcebe light the lamp?"
"Not just yet."
"Can't you drink a cup of tea if I bring it?"
"Not just yet."
"Did you find the-sack-trimming?" I ventured, after a pause.
" I believe so, - yes."
She drew a little package from her pocket,
held it a moment, then let it roll to the floor
forgotten. When I picked it up, the soft,
tissue-paper wrapper was wet and hot with
tears.
"Mary?"
"Yes."
"I never thought of the little trimming till
the last minute. I had another errand."
I waited.
"I thought at first I would not tell you just
yet. But I suppose the time has come; it will
be no more easy to put it off. I have been to
Worcester all these times to see a doctor."
I bent my head in the dark, and listened for
the rest.
" He has his reputation; they said he could
help me if anybody could. He thought at
first he could. But to-day - Mary, see here."
She walked feebly towards the window,