She had not known how this plan and this hope had taken possession of her, till the woman's out-of-breath story, of a stranger from the train, revealed it to her. Some one coming up from town at this season, meant business. Yes, the place was as good as sold: or, if this man didn't buy it, others would be coming to look at it; some one would buy it. At any rate her peace was gone. She had not known how insensibly she had depended upon escaping what she had declared to herself she was prepared for. People said they were asking more for the place than they would ever get. Perhaps St. John had gone to the agents and put it at a lower figure; perhaps the Order needed the money and couldn't wait. A bitterer feeling than she had known for a long time, came with these reflections. She walked on fast, away from all sight and hearing of the unwelcome intruders. She fancied how they were poking about the plumbing, and throwing open the blinds to see the condition of the paint and plaster, and standing on the lawn, with their backs to the bay, and gazing up at the house, and saying that chimney must come down, and a new window could be thrown out there, and the summer parlor must have something better by way of an entrance. She hated them; she would not put herself in the way of meeting them. She walked on and on, along the bank, till she was tired, and then sat down on an uprooted cedar, and pulled the cape of her coat over her head to keep warm, and waited till she should be sure they had gone back to the train. She sat with her watch in her hand, not able to think of the beauty of the smooth, blue bay, spread below her, nor the calm of the still autumn atmosphere. Nothing was calm to her now; she found she had been quite self-deceived, and was not half as resigned and good as she had thought herself. "I wish it were all over and done," she said to herself keeping back bitter tears. "I wish the deed were signed, and the place gone. It is this suspense that I can't bear. Every time the train comes in, I shall think some one has come up to look at it. Every time I walk across the grounds, I shall dread that woman running after me, to ask me for the keys. Oh, the talking, and the lawyers, and the agents, and St. John coming up; one day it will be sold, and the next day there will be some hitch, and there will be backing and filling, and worrying, and fretting, that wears my life out to look ahead to." Poor Missy, she certainly had had some discipline, and not the least painful part was that she did not find herself as good as she had thought she was.