In her own room Lizzie changed her dress. She felt like it, and she put on her oldest and plainest gown. She drew off her rings and bracelets and dropped them into a drawer. Something psychological was happening to her which she could not have analyzed had she had far more occult knowledge than she possessed. She remembered that her mother had dressed plainly in those far-off days which now seemed so sweet and restful, and somehow she wanted to be like her mother. It was sundown. It would soon be dark, she told herself, with a cool shudder and a little groan of despair. Suddenly she heard a sound as of the gate being closed. Then there was a light step on the porch, followed by a low rap on the door. Lizzie crept down the stairs, not knowing whether she should open the door or not. There was another rap, a timid one, it seemed to Lizzie, who now stood hesitating in the hall close to the door. There was a brief silence, then a low, awed voice was heard calling: "Mrs. Trott! Oh, Mrs. Trott! May I see you for a moment?" Lizzie fired up with a touch of her old irascibility, and, putting her lips to the keyhole, she cried out, sharply: "There is no one at home! Can't you read the card on the door?" "Yes, Mrs. Trott," came back after a pause, "but I've come a long way to see you. Don't you know me? I'm Tilly, John's wife." "John's wife!" Lizzie gasped under her breath. "John's wife!" Then with fumbling fingers she unlocked and opened the door and stood staring at the quaint little visitor whose black costume was covered with the dust of travel and who seemed quite frightened under the ordeal upon her. "Oh, Mrs. Trott," Tilly went on, in a pleading tone, "do forgive me! I know I have no right to intrude on you like this, but I simply couldn't stay away any longer. Oh, Mrs. Trott, you are alone and in trouble and I want to help you!" "Want to help me--you want to help me?" Lizzie stammered, taking Tilly's outstretched hand and leading her into the parlor. "Of course, of course you are welcome, but you mustn't stand there. Some one passing might see you. You say--you say that you want to see me?" "Yes, you are his mother-- I'm his wife, and we have lost him. Oh, Mrs. Trott, what are we to do--how can we bear it?" Tilly's voice quivered and hung in her throat and broke into sobs. The woman within the woman of the world took the weeping child to her breast and held her there. She, too, was weeping now and afraid to trust her abashed voice to utterance. Locked in a mutual embrace, they stood for several minutes. Then Lizzie, the weaker vessel of the two, found her voice. "Why did you come _here_?" she cried. "Oh, why did you come _here_?"