“Oh, my honey!” she broke out with a little sob, “I know--I understand how you feel.” But this time he silenced her, turning her head against his shoulder and pressing it there. “There! It’s all right. It’s all right. There now.” He held her fast. And after a moment he said, “We’ll see about moving right away.” “Oh, Tim, our home! Our little rooms where we’ve been so happy!” “I know--I know! But we’ll find another place,” he comforted her. She raised her head presently, and held him off. “But Tim, think of her being Miss Fogg’s niece! Oh, I _hate_ that! Miss Fogg’s mine: she’s my child. I made her. Elizabeth’s never done one thing for the poor old woman; but I worked over her with all my heart. It’s true what Mrs. Watkins said about my blowing the breath of life into her. That’s what God did in the Bible for Adam. Oh, I oughtn’t to think such things--but that’s the way I felt--something right out of myself went into that old soul an’ gave her life. And all the time--all the time, she was _her_ aunt!” She paused, but in a moment she spoke abruptly. “Tim, she was crying when she went down the steps. What could have made her cry?” He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Again they were silent, looking into one another’s faces questioningly. They were suddenly at sea in the wine-dark waters of life, swept from all their moorings, confused and uncertain, and they looked at each other in search of some fresh anchorage. The shadows were gathering in the room now; it was almost dark; and at length he rose and lighted the gas. “There! Now what about a little bite to eat?”