The fire was out, and a heap of ashes lay on the hearth, as if no one had made an attempt to put things to rights for hours. There were unwashed dishes on the kitchen table, and on the bread board, beside the knife, lay half a loaf of bread which had moulded in the warm, moist atmosphere. It was all very strange. What could have happened? With a growing sense that the house was empty now, Dawn went upstairs, looking first into her own old room and the guest rooms, and coming at last to the door of that which had been her step-mother’s. It was closed, and she hesitated to open it. What need had she to go in there, any way? It could profit her nothing. If her step-mother was there, Dawn did not wish to see her. The girl paused an instant, then her soft tread turned back again to go downstairs, but a low sound, like a moan, caught her ear, and something made her turn again and open the door, though cold chills were creeping down her spine, and a frenzy of fear had seized upon her. There upon the high four-poster bed lay her step-mother, her eyes sunken into deep sockets, her cheeks hollow, her nose thin and pointed, her whole face pinched and blue, with lines of agony in her expression. Dawn felt her heart leap in fear, but she went forward. There seemed nothing else to do. The sunken eyes turned toward her dully, and the blue lips uttered a low moan, then, suddenly, the sick woman fixed her gaze upon the girl’s face in growing horror, and a livid look came into her face. "Is that you at last?" she asked in a deep, hoarse voice that sounded strange and unnatural. "Are we both dead?" A cold perspiration had come out upon the girl, and the awfulness of the situation seemed to be taking her senses away, but she tried to speak coolly, and still the wild beating of her heart. "Yes, I’ve come," said Dawn; "but we’re not dead. What is the matter? Are you sick? I found the front door open, and no one around." "They’ve all gone and left me," moaned the woman, beginning to turn her head with a strange, restless movement from side to side. "They rushed off like frightened cattle. You’ll go, too, I suppose, when you know I’ve got the cholera. Yes, go quick. I don’t want to do you any more harm than I have already. Oh!" The sentence broke in a cry of agony, and the sick woman writhed in terrible contortions, which, passing, left her weak and almost lifeless. The girl’s heart was filled with horror, but she took off her bonnet and cape and laid down her bundle. "No, I’m not going to leave you," she said sadly, almost dully. "I’m not afraid, and, besides, it doesn’t matter about me, any way. Have you had the doctor?" The woman shook her head. The agony was not all passed. "There wasn’t any one to go for him," she murmured weakly, tossing restlessly again. "Oh, I’m so thirsty! Can you get me some water?" "Where is Father?" asked Dawn, wondering if he too had deserted her.