Reine came closer to her, and putting one soft arm into hers, looked at her, examining her face with wistful eyes--“Then what is it, Aunt Susan?” she said. “What is--what? I do not understand you,” cried Miss Susan, shifting her arm, and turning away her face. “You are tired, and you are fantastic, as you always were. Reine, go to bed.” “Dear Aunt Susan,” cried Reine, “don’t put me away. You are not vexed with us for coming back?--you are not sorry we have come? Oh, don’t turn your face from me! You never used to turn from me, except when I had done wrong. Have we done wrong, Herbert or I?” “No, child, no--no, I tell you! Oh, Reine, don’t worry me now. I have enough without that--I cannot bear any more.” Miss Susan shook off the clinging hold. She roused herself and walked across the room, and put off her shawl, which she had drawn round her shoulders to come upstairs. She had not begun to undress, though Martha by this time was fast asleep. In the trouble of her mind she had sent Martha also away. She took off her few ornaments with trembling hands, and put them down on the table. “Go to bed, Reine; I am tired too--forgive me, dear,” she said with a sigh, “I cannot talk to you to-night.” “What is it, Aunt Susan?” said Reine softly, looking at her with anxious eyes. “It is nothing--nothing! only I cannot talk to you. I am not angry; but leave me, dear child, leave me for to-night.” “Aunt Susan,” said the girl, going up to her again, and once more putting an arm round her, “it is something about--_that_ woman. If it is not us, it is her. Why does she trouble you?--why is she here? Don’t send me away, but tell me about her! Dear Aunt Susan, you are ill, you are looking so strange, not like yourself. Tell me--I belong to you. I can understand you better than any one else.” “Oh, hush, hush, Reine; you don’t know what you are saying. It is nothing, child, nothing! _You_ understand me?” “Better than any one,” cried the girl, “for I belong to you. I can read what is in your face. None of the others know, but I saw it. Aunt Susan, tell me--whisper--I will keep it sacred, whatever it is, and it will do you good.” Miss Susan leaned her head upon the fragile young creature who clung to her. Reine, so slight and young, supported the stronger, older woman, with a force which was all of the heart and soul; but no words came from the sufferer’s lips. She stood clasping the girl close to her, and for a moment gave way to a great sob, which shook her like a convulsion. The touch, the presence, the innocent bosom laid against her own in all that ignorant instinctive sympathy which is the great mystery of kindred, did her good. Then she kissed the girl tenderly, and sent her away. “God bless you, darling! though I am not worthy to say it--not worthy!” said the woman, trembling, who had always seemed to Reine the very emblem of strength, authority, and steadfast power.