Isabel was thinking; but the question, twice repeated, brought her to herself. She began to laugh, peal on peal of hysterical mirth; and the parson, still holding her arm, grew compassionate. "Poor soul!" said he soothingly. "Poor soul! sit down here by the stove and be calm--be calm!" Isabel was overcome anew. "Oh, it isn't so!" she gasped, finding breath. "I'm not crazy. Just let me be!" She started under his detaining hand, for the knock had come again. Wrenching herself free, she stepped into the entry. "Who's there?" she called. "It's your aunt Mary Ellen," came a voice from the darkness. "Open the door." "O my soul!" whispered Isabel to herself. "Wait a minute!" she continued. "Only a minute!" She thrust the parson back into the sitting-room, and shut the door. The act relieved her. If she could push a minister, and he could obey in such awkward fashion, he was no longer to be feared. He was even to be refused. Isabel felt equal to doing it. "Now, look here," said she rapidly; "you stand right there while I take off these things. Don't you say a word. No, Mr. Bond, don't you speak!" Bonnet, false front, and spectacles were tossed in a tumultuous pile. "Isabel!" gasped the parson. "Keep still!" she commanded. "Here! fold this shawl!" The parson folded it neatly, and meanwhile Isabel stepped out of the mutilated dress, and added that also to the heap. She opened the blue chest, and packed the articles hastily within. "Here!" said she; "toss me the shawl. Now if you say one word--Oh, parson, if you only will keep still, I'll tell you all about it! That is, I guess I can!" And leaving him standing in hopeless coma, she opened the door. "Well," said aunt Mary Ellen, stepping in, "I'm afraid your hinges want greasing. How do you do, Isabel? How do you do?" She put up her face and kissed her niece. Aunt Mary Ellen was so pretty, so round, so small, that she always seemed timid, and did the commonest acts of life with a gentle grace. "I heard voices," she said, walking into the sitting-room. "Sadie here?" The parson had stepped forward, more bent than usual, for he was peering down into her face. "Mary Ellen!" he exclaimed. The little woman looked up at him--very sadly, Isabel thought. "Yes, William," she answered. But she was untying her bonnet, and she did not offer to shake hands. Isabel stood by with downcast eyes, waiting to take her things, and aunt Mary Ellen looked searchingly up at her as she laid her mittens on the pile. The girl, without a word, went into the bedroom, and her aunt followed her. "Isabel," said she rapidly, "I saw the chest. Have you burnt the things?" "No," answered Isabel in wonder. "No." "Then don't you! don't you touch 'em for the world." She went back into the sitting-room, and Isabel followed. The candle was guttering, and aunt Mary Ellen pushed it toward her. "I don't know where the snuffers are," she said. "Lamp smoke?"