Twilight darkened into night; but Rody refused to go in and go to bed; she was comfortable, she liked that chair, she liked the stars, she could breathe better out here in the night air; she did not want to go into her bedroom, somebody had struck her a blow in there. So they stayed, the air blew damp, Aunt Affy brought a shawl and pinned it about the stooping shoulders; Cephas came and sat down on the step of the piazza with his hat on his knee, giving uneasy glances now and then at the muffled, still figure in the chair. “It’s getting dark,” suggested Affy, rising and standing before the bent figure with its head turned stiffly to one side. “And damp—these nights are chilly for old bones,” replied Cephas. “There’s a light in the house,” persuaded Affy, “and it’s dark out here.” “And the bed is so comfortable,” added Cephas; “guess I’ll go in.” He arose and went in. “I’m going, too,” encouraged Affy. “Come, Rody, you may sleep in my bed.” “I won’t sleep in my bed; are you sure there’s nobody to strike me in your room?” she questioned like a frightened child. “Nobody but me. Come, Rody,” she urged, gently. Placing a hand on each arm of the chair, the old woman lifted herself to her feet; then she felt out in the darkness for something to lean on; Affy took her arm and led her in. The lamp was burning on the round table where the _New York Observer_ was piled; Doodles slept on his cushion on the lounge. “I’ll sit here awhile,” said Cephas, pulling his spectacle case from his vest pocket. “I haven’t read the paper to-night.” “I’ll sit here, too,” said Rody, rousing herself to a decision. “Somehow I don’t want to go to bed. I don’t believe it’s nine o’clock yet. I wish the clock would strike. I wish something would make a noise.” “It’s a quarter of nine,” replied Affy, lowering her sister slowly down into her chair. “It will soon strike.” “Take this thing off,” commanded Rody, tugging at the shawl with her weak right hand. “You bundle me up as if I was a baby.” “There’s a carriage coming,” said Cephas, bending his head and half shutting his eyes to listen; “he’s come, Affy.” “Who’s come?” demanded Aunt Rody, in shrill tone. “Who comes at this time of night?” “The minister; he was coming to bring Judith for an hour or two,” Cephas answered, reassuringly. “She didn’t come yesterday. Don’t you want to see her?” “Just for a look; I don’t want her to stay, I don’t want anybody to stay.” Roger Kenney and Judith entered quietly; Judith shrank from the old woman as she stood for an instant beside her chair. Roger drew a chair nearer and took Aunt Rody’s hand into his own. The nerveless hand lay in his as if glad of the warmth and strength; as he talked, Roger clasped and unclasped his hand over hers that she might feel the motion and life of his fingers. “I’m glad to see you, Aunt Rody,” he said in a voice which was a tonic. “I’m glad to see you,” she replied, with the flicker of a smile about her lips.