she simply wanted to feel the emptiness of the room brimmed full
again by the one presence that was warmth and light to her.

She knelt down before the grate, scraped some bits of coal and
kindling from the bottom of the coal-scuttle, and drew one of the
rocking-chairs up to the weak flame. "There--that'll blaze up in
a minute," she said. She pressed Evelina down on the faded
cushions of the rocking-chair, and, kneeling beside her, began to
rub her hands.

"You're stone-cold, ain't you? Just sit still and warm
yourself while I run and get the kettle. I've got something you
always used to fancy for supper." She laid her hand on Evelina's
shoulder. "Don't talk--oh, don't talk yet!" she implored. She
wanted to keep that one frail second of happiness between herself
and what she knew must come.

Evelina, without a word, bent over the fire, stretching her
thin hands to the blaze and watching Ann Eliza fill the kettle and
set the supper table. Her gaze had the dreamy fixity of a half-
awakened child's.

Ann Eliza, with a smile of triumph, brought a slice of custard
pie from the cupboard and put it by her sister's plate.

"You do like that, don't you? Miss Mellins sent it down to me
this morning. She had her aunt from Brooklyn to dinner. Ain't it
funny it just so happened?"

"I ain't hungry," said Evelina, rising to approach the table.