“How hot the night is!” she said: and sighed, and resumed the subject with a steady countenance. “I am not surprised that your father never mentioned me--to _you_.” She spoke quietly, but her face was paler than ever. She sat down again on the bed. “Is there anything I can do for you,” she asked, “before I go away? Oh, I only mean some trifling service that would lay you under no obligation, and would not oblige you to keep up your acquaintance with me.” Her eyes--the dim black eyes that must once have been irresistibly beautiful--looked at Emily so sadly that the generous girl reproached herself for having doubted her father’s friend. “Are you thinking of _him_,” she said gently, “when you ask if you can be of service to me?” Miss Jethro made no direct reply. “You were fond of your father?” she added, in a whisper. “You told your schoolfellow that your heart still aches when you speak of him.” “I only told her the truth,” Emily answered simply. Miss Jethro shuddered--on that hot night!--shuddered as if a chill had struck her. Emily held out her hand; the kind feeling that had been roused in her glittered prettily in her eyes. “I am afraid I have not done you justice,” she said. “Will you forgive me and shake hands?” Miss Jethro rose, and drew back. “Look at the light!” she exclaimed. The candle was all burned out. Emily still offered her hand--and still Miss Jethro refused to see it. “There is just light enough left,” she said, “to show me my way to the door. Good-night--and good-by.” Emily caught at her dress, and stopped her. “Why won’t you shake hands with me?” she asked. The wick of the candle fell over in the socket, and left them in the dark. Emily resolutely held the teacher’s dress. With or without light, she was still bent on making Miss Jethro explain herself. They had throughout spoken in guarded tones, fearing to disturb the sleeping girls. The sudden darkness had its inevitable effect. Their voices sank to whispers now. “My father’s friend,” Emily pleaded, “is surely my friend?” “Drop the subject.” “Why?” “You can never be _my_ friend.” “Why not?” “Let me go!” Emily’s sense of self-respect forbade her to persist any longer. “I beg your pardon for having kept you here against your will,” she said--and dropped her hold on the dress. Miss Jethro instantly yielded on her side. “I am sorry to have been obstinate,” she answered. “If you do despise me, it is after all no more than I have deserved.” Her hot breath beat on Emily’s face: the unhappy woman must have bent over the bed as she made her confession. “I am not a fit person for you to associate with.” “I don’t believe it!”