enlargement," a portrait of a man, a middle-aged man with a chin beard.
There was something familiar about the face in the portrait. Something--

Thankful gasped. "Uncle Abner!" she cried. "Why--why--"

Then the lantern flame gave a last feeble sputter and went out. She
heard the groan again. And in that room, the room she had examined so
carefully, so close as to seem almost at her very ear, a faint voice
wailed agonizingly, "Oh, Lord!"

Thankful went away. She left the comforter and the lantern upon the
floor and she did not stop to close the door of the little bedroom.
Through the black darkness of the long hall she rushed and down the
creaky stairs. Her entrance to the sitting-room was more noisy than her
exit had been and Miss Howes stirred upon the sofa and opened her eyes.

"Auntie!" she cried, sharply. "Aunt Thankful, where are you?"

"I'm--I'm here, Emily. That is, I guess--yes, I'm here."

"But why is it so dark? Where is the lantern?"

"The lantern?" Mrs. Barnes was trying to speak calmly but, between
agitation and loss of breath, she found it hard work. "The lantern?
Why--it's--it's gone," she said.

"Gone? What do you mean? Where has it gone?"

"It's gone--gone out. There wa'n't enough oil in it to last any longer,
I suppose."