“Jane,” and she sank her voice to a whisper, “was always plain, and never received the admiration, or was the favorite with gentlemen I was, and it has always made her jealous of me. But I’m fond of my curls,” giving them a shake. “Why, I even had a poem written on them once, and I sha’n’t put them up, at least not till I begin to grow old.” Rose listened in amazement. She was sure Miss Silence was younger than Miss Eudora, her hair was not grey, nor her face marked with such little fine lines, and neither she nor Mrs. Patience ever talked like that. It was all very queer, and most of all that Miss Eudora _could_ fancy that she looked young. “You were a long time doing the chamberwork,” Miss Fifield remarked when Rose went downstairs. Miss Fifield was in the kitchen baking, her scant house dress clinging to her angular figure, and her grey hair drawn back with painful tightness. Rose noted the contrast between the two sisters as she answered, “Miss Eudora was talking to me.” “What about?” a trifle sharply. Rose hesitated slightly. “Several things; her visit to the city for one.” “I’ll warrant. Perhaps you found it interesting, but when you have heard the same story twenty-seven years, as I have, twenty-seven years this winter, it will get to be a weariness of the flesh; that and her lovers.” She shot a keen glance at Rose, who could not help a giggle. Miss Jane Fifield shook the flour from her hands with energy. “I used to hope that Eudora would grow sensible sometime, but I’ve about given it up. One thing I am thankful for, that there is something inside of my head, and not all put on the outside!” and she shut the oven door with a force that threatened danger to the lightness of the pound cake she was baking. CHAPTER XVI UNDER A CLOUD Rose had been a few weeks at the Fifields, long enough to learn the family ways, so that Miss Fifield felt she could leave home for a long-planned visit. It was a stormy day, and Mrs. Patience suddenly exclaimed, “I wonder who can be coming this way in such a hurry? Why, I believe—yes, it is Rose, running as fast as she can. I hope Eudora is not sick.” Almost as she spoke the door opened and Rose rushed in, snow-powdered and breathless; her hat blown partly off, her face wet with tears as well as snow flakes, and her voice broken and thick with sobs, as without giving time for any questions she burst out: “You said it was a leading of Providence for me to go to the Fifields’. But it wasn’t; and he says he will have me put in jail if I don’t tell where the money is. And _how_ can I tell when I don’t know? Maybe God cares for some folks, but I’m sure He doesn’t for me or I wouldn’t have so much trouble. I wish I was dead, I do!” and flinging herself down on the well-worn lounge she buried her face in the pillow and burst into a storm of sobs.