What could it mean? Heather stood considering this question, and all at once her heart gave a great leap; not of joy, but fear. There was no fire; the fact had not struck her at first—perhaps because she was then intent on looking for Prissy—now, however, it came home to her, not merely that there was no fire, but that the wood, paper, and coals, were laid ready for lighting; ready for lighting in both kitchens. A woman must, like Heather, be a practical housekeeper to understand the full significance of such a spectacle. Both fires out; both laid ready for lighting; that bespoke premeditation. Now, premeditation meant, not that Prissy had gone upstairs to dress, and forgotten her fires; not that Prissy had gone out shopping, and remained to gossip; not that Prissy had met her lover, who made time pass so pleasantly, that minutes and fuel were alike forgotten; but that Prissy had gone out with leave to do so granted, and that she had conscientiously waited to put the house into apple-pie order before her departure. One of Heather’s greatest comforts, in leaving home, had been the idea that Prissy would see that her husband wanted for nothing; that she would be always on guard, always at hand to get him whatever he wanted. Mrs. Dudley had arranged that Prissy’s mother was to come up by the late train that night, and keep her company while the family were away; and the very last words she spoke, before leaving home, were, “Don’t forget, Prissy, to write to me often; and if Mr. Dudley should be ill, I depend upon your sending for me;” in answer to which Prissy said, “I will see to everything, mum, as if you was at home; and I’ll write every two days, and never be out of the house till you come back.” After that, to return and find the bird flown, was rather disheartening. Mrs. Dudley could not unravel the enigma, and she thereupon slowly ascended the stairs, wondering as she went what it all could mean. She passed her own room, and wending her way up another flight of stairs, entered that belonging to Prissy. There, on the foot of the bed, hung the girl’s cotton gown, her apron, and various other articles of apparel which Heather recognized at a glance as her every-day habiliments. With an awful creeping dread upon her, Heather opened the door of the closet where Prissy hung up her gown, and found, not the girl’s best dress, bonnet, and shawl, but empty pegs—a fearful vacancy. What could it all mean? She looked again around the apartment, and perceived Prissy’s box was gone. Clearly, her trusty domestic had departed, not merely for the afternoon but for a longer period. With a sense of suffocation on her, Heather walked to the small window which was partially open, and stood there wondering what she should do next.