"It seems so unnecessary, your leaving Mrs. Jarvis," Miss Gordon continued. "Someone else could have brought Eppie. And what we are to do with her I cannot tell. You cannot but see that she is consumptive, and it would be folly for us to allow her to be in the same home with Mary. Even you must understand that Mary is in danger of that disease, Elizabeth." The girl's face blanched. "I will take complete care of her, aunt," she said hastily. "Mary need not go near her. But both Mr. Bagsley and Mrs. Jarvis's doctor said Eppie would soon get better with fresh air and good nursing." "One never can tell with a disease like that. And as for good nursing--I see clearly that as usual the burden must fall upon me." Miss Gordon sighed deeply and hunted in her basket for her spool. "It is quite out of the question for you to undertake nursing her. I could not allow it in any case, but it would be unfair to Mrs. Jarvis. She must expect your return any day?" She looked up inquiringly, and Elizabeth's clasped hands clenched each other again. She made a desperate attempt to be brave, and turned squarely towards her aunt. The very necessity of the case drove her to take courage. "Aunt Margaret," she said deliberately, "you do not quite understand yet. I--I cannot--I am not going back to Mrs. Jarvis--any more." Miss Gordon dropped the linen square she was embroidering, but recovered it instantly. Even in the shock of dismay, she was dignified and self-restrained. "Elizabeth," she said with a dreadful calm, "what is this you are telling me?" "I cannot go back," repeated the girl with the courage of despair. "I am sorry--oh, sorrier than I can possibly tell you, Aunt Margaret, that I have brought all this trouble upon you. But I had to leave. I explained to Mrs. Jarvis how I felt--that it seemed as if we both had profited at Eppie's expense, and that as she had allowed Eppie to be turned out of her home, I felt as if she were responsible--as well as myself. And so I came away. I couldn't live that kind of life after seeing Eppie's home--and what she was almost driven to. Oh, Aunt Margaret, can't you understand that I couldn't!" Miss Gordon was staring at her in a way that robbed Elizabeth of her small stock of courage. "Wait," she said, raising her hand to stop the incoherent flow. "Do I understand you to say that you--you insulted Mrs. Jarvis--and left her?" "I didn't mean to insult her," whispered Elizabeth with dry lips. "I--I felt I was as much to blame as she--and I said so." "And Mr. Huntley? What of him?" The girl looked up suddenly, a wave of indignation lending a flash to her gray eyes. "Aunt Margaret, he owned the house Eppie lived in!" she cried, as though it were a final condemnation. Miss Gordon waved her aside. "And he was ready to offer you marriage. Mrs. Jarvis told me so in her last letter. Elizabeth,--do you at all comprehend what a disastrous thing you have done?"