In the fervor of her anxiety to set her doubts at rest, Emily’s faith in her own good resolutions began to waver. The temptation to say something which might set her aunt talking again was too strong to be resisted--if she remained at the bedside. Despairing of herself she rose and turned to the door. In the moment that passed while she crossed the room the very words occurred to her that would suit her purpose. Her cheeks were hot with shame--she hesitated--she looked back at the bed--the words passed her lips. “Sara is only one of the woman’s names,” she said. “Do you like her other name?” The rapidly-muttering tones broke out again instantly--but not in answer to Emily. The sound of a voice had encouraged Miss Letitia to pursue her own confused train of thought, and had stimulated the fast-failing capacity of speech to exert itself once more. “No! no! He’s too cunning for you, and too cunning for me. He doesn’t leave letters about; he destroys them all. Did I say he was too cunning for us? It’s false. We are too cunning for him. Who found the morsels of his letter in the basket? Who stuck them together? Ah, _we_ know! Don’t read it, Bony. ‘Dear Miss Jethro’--don’t read it again. ‘Miss Jethro’ in his letter; and ‘Sara,’ when he talks to himself in the garden. Oh, who would have believed it of him, if we hadn’t seen and heard it ourselves!” There was no more doubt now. But who was the man, so bitterly and so regretfully alluded to? No: this time Emily held firmly by the resolution which bound her to respect the helpless position of her aunt. The speediest way of summoning Mrs. Ellmother would be to ring the bell. As she touched the handle a faint cry of suffering from the bed called her back. “Oh, so thirsty!” murmured the failing voice--“so thirsty!” She parted the curtains. The shrouded lamplight just showed her the green shade over Miss Letitia’s eyes--the hollow cheeks below it--the arms laid helplessly on the bed-clothes. “Oh, aunt, don’t you know my voice? Don’t you know Emily? Let me kiss you, dear!” Useless to plead with her; useless to kiss her; she only reiterated the words, “So thirsty! so thirsty!” Emily raised the poor tortured body with a patient caution which spared it pain, and put the glass to her aunt’s lips. She drank the lemonade to the last drop. Refreshed for the moment, she spoke again--spoke to the visionary servant of her delirious fancy, while she rested in Emily’s arms. “For God’s sake, take care how you answer if she questions you. If _she_ knew what _we_ know! Are men ever ashamed? Ha! the vile woman! the vile woman!”