spring had really come at last. there were leaves on theailanthus-tree that evelina could see from her bed, gentle cloudsfloated over it in the blue, and now and then the cry of a flower-seller sounded from the street.

one day there was a shy knock on the back-room door, andjohnny hawkins came in with two yellow jonquils in his fist. hewas getting bigger and squarer, and his round freckled face wasgrowing into a smaller copy of his father's. he walked up toevelina and held out the flowers.

"they blew off the cart and the fellow said i could keep 'em.

but you can have 'em," he announced.

ann eliza rose from her seat at the sewing-machine and triedto take the flowers from him.

"they ain't for you; they're for her," he sturdily objected;and evelina held out her hand for the jonquils.

after johnny had gone she lay and looked at them withoutspeaking. ann eliza, who had gone back to the machine, bent herhead over the seam she was stitching; the click, click, click ofthe machine sounded in her ear like the tick of ramy's clock, andit seemed to her that life had gone backward, and that evelina,radiant and foolish, had just come into the room with the yellowflowers in her hand.

when at last she ventured to look up, she saw that hersister's head had drooped against the pillow, and that she wassleeping quietly. her relaxed hand still held the jonquils, but itwas evident that they had awakened no memories; she had dozed offalmost as soon as johnny had given them to her. the discovery gaveann eliza a startled sense of the ruins that must be piled upon herpast. "i don't believe i could have forgotten that day, though,"she said to herself. but she was glad that evelina had forgotten.

evelina's disease moved on along the usual course, now liftingher on a brief wave of elation, now sinking her to new depths ofweakness. there was little to be done, and the doctor came only atlengthening intervals. on his way out he always repeated his firstfriendly suggestion about sending evelina to the hospital; and anneliza always answered: "i guess we can manage."the hours passed for her with the fierce rapidity that greatjoy or anguish lends them. she went through the days with asternly smiling precision, but she hardly knew what was happening,and when night-fall released her from the shop, and she could carryher work to evelina's bedside, the same sense of unrealityaccompanied her, and she still seemed to be accomplishing a taskwhose object had escaped her memory.

once, when evelina felt better, she expressed a desire to makesome artificial flowers, and ann eliza, deluded by this awakeninginterest, got out the faded bundles of stems and petals and thelittle tools and spools of wire. but after a few minutes the workdropped from evelina's hands and she said: "i'll wait until to-morrow."she never again spoke of the flower-making, but one day, afterwatching ann eliza's laboured attempt to trim a spring hat for mrs.

hawkins, she demanded impatiently that the hat should be brought toher, and in a trice had galvanized the lifeless bow and given thebrim the twist it needed.

these were rare gleams; and more frequent were the days ofspeechless lassitude, when she lay for hours silently staring atthe window, shaken only by the hard incessant cough that sounded toann eliza like the hammering of nails into a coffin.

at length one morning ann eliza, starting up from the mattressat the foot of the bed, hastily called miss mellins down, and ranthrough the smoky dawn for the doctor. he came back with her anddid what he could to give evelina momentary relief; then he wentaway, promising to look in again before night. miss mellins, herhead still covered with curl-papers, disappeared in his wake, andwhen the sisters were alone evelina beckoned to ann eliza.

"you promised," she whispered, grasping her sister's arm; andann eliza understood. she had not yet dared to tell miss mellinsof evelina's change of faith; it had seemed even more difficultthan borrowing the money; but now it had to be done. she ranupstairs after the dress-maker and detained her on the landing.

"miss mellins, can you tell me where to send for a priest--aroman catholic priest?""a priest, miss bunner?""yes. my sister became a roman catholic while she was away.

they were kind to her in her sickness--and now she wants a priest."ann eliza faced miss mellins with unflinching eyes.

"my aunt dugan'll know. i'll run right round to her theminute i get my papers off," the dress-maker promised; and anneliza thanked her.

an hour or two later the priest appeared. ann eliza, who waswatching, saw him coming down the steps to the shop-door and wentto meet him. his expression was kind, but she shrank fromhis peculiar dress, and from his pale face with its bluish chin andenigmatic smile. ann eliza remained in the shop. miss mellins'sgirl had mixed the buttons again and she set herself to sort them.

the priest stayed a long time with evelina. when he again carriedhis enigmatic smile past the counter, and ann eliza rejoined hersister, evelina was smiling with something of the same mystery; butshe did not tell her secret.

after that it seemed to ann eliza that the shop and the backroom no longer belonged to her. it was as though she were there onsufferance, indulgently tolerated by the unseen power which hoveredover evelina even in the absence of its minister. the priest camealmost daily; and at last a day arrived when he was called toadminister some rite of which ann eliza but dimly grasped thesacramental meaning. all she knew was that it meant that evelinawas going, and going, under this alien guidance, even farther fromher than to the dark places of death.

when the priest came, with something covered in his hands, shecrept into the shop, closing the door of the back room to leave himalone with evelina.

it was a warm afternoon in may, and the crooked ailanthus-treerooted in a fissure of the opposite pavement was a fountain oftender green. women in light dresses passed with the languid stepof spring; and presently there came a man with a hand-cart full ofpansy and geranium plants who stopped outside the window,signalling to ann eliza to buy.

an hour went by before the door of the back room opened andthe priest reappeared with that mysterious covered something in hishands. ann eliza had risen, drawing back as he passed. he haddoubtless divined her antipathy, for he had hitherto only bowed ingoing in and out; but to day he paused and looked at hercompassionately.

"i have left your sister in a very beautiful state of mind,"he said in a low voice like a woman's. "she is full of spiritualconsolation."ann eliza was silent, and he bowed and went out. she hastenedback to evelina's bed, and knelt down beside it. evelina's eyeswere very large and bright; she turned them on ann eliza with alook of inner illumination.

"i shall see the baby," she said; then her eyelids fell andshe dozed.

the doctor came again at nightfall, administering some lastpalliatives; and after he had gone ann eliza, refusing to have hervigil shared by miss mellins or mrs. hawkins, sat down to keepwatch alone.

it was a very quiet night. evelina never spoke or opened hereyes, but in the still hour before dawn ann eliza saw that therestless hand outside the bed-clothes had stopped its twitching.

she stooped over and felt no breath on her sister's lips.

the funeral took place three days later. evelina was buriedin calvary cemetery, the priest assuming the whole care of thenecessary arrangements, while ann eliza, a passive spectator,beheld with stony indifference this last negation of her past.

a week afterward she stood in her bonnet and mantle in thedoorway of the little shop. its whole aspect had changed. counterand shelves were bare, the window was stripped of its familiarmiscellany of artificial flowers, note-paper, wire hat-frames, andlimp garments from the dyer's; and against the glass pane of thedoorway hung a sign: "this store to let."ann eliza turned her eyes from the sign as she went out andlocked the door behind her. evelina's funeral had been veryexpensive, and ann eliza, having sold her stock-in-trade and thefew articles of furniture that remained to her, was leaving theshop for the last time. she had not been able to buy any mourning,but miss mellins had sewed some crape on her old black mantle andbonnet, and having no gloves she slipped her bare hands under thefolds of the mantle.

it was a beautiful morning, and the air was full of a warmsunshine that had coaxed open nearly every window in the street,and summoned to the window-sills the sickly plants nurtured indoorsin winter. ann eliza's way lay westward, toward broadway; but atthe corner she paused and looked back down the familiar length ofthe street. her eyes rested a moment on the blotched "bunnersisters" above the empty window of the shop; then they travelled onto the overflowing foliage of the square, above which wasthe church tower with the dial that had marked the hours for thesisters before ann eliza had bought the nickel clock. she lookedat it all as though it had been the scene of some unknown life, ofwhich the vague report had reached her: she felt for herself theonly remote pity that busy people accord to the misfortunes whichcome to them by hearsay.

she walked to broadway and down to the office of the house-agent to whom she had entrusted the sub-letting of the shop. sheleft the key with one of his clerks, who took it from her as if ithad been any one of a thousand others, and remarked that theweather looked as if spring was really coming; then she turned andbegan to move up the great thoroughfare, which was just beginningto wake to its multitudinous activities.

she walked less rapidly now, studying each shop window as shepassed, but not with the desultory eye of enjoyment: the watchfulfixity of her gaze overlooked everything but the object of itsquest. at length she stopped before a small window wedged betweentwo mammoth buildings, and displaying, behind its shining plate-glass festooned with muslin, a varied assortment of sofa-cushions,tea-cloths, pen-wipers, painted calendars and other specimens offeminine industry. in a corner of the window she had read, on aslip of paper pasted against the pane: "wanted, a saleslady," andafter studying the display of fancy articles beneath it, she gaveher mantle a twitch, straightened her shoulders and went in.

behind a counter crowded with pin-cushions, watch-holders andother needlework trifles, a plump young woman with smooth hair satsewing bows of ribbon on a scrap basket. the little shop was aboutthe size of the one on which ann eliza had just closed the door;and it looked as fresh and gay and thriving as she and evelina hadonce dreamed of making bunner sisters. the friendly air of theplace made her pluck up courage to speak.

"saleslady? yes, we do want one. have you any one torecommend?" the young woman asked, not unkindly.

ann eliza hesitated, disconcerted by the unexpected question;and the other, cocking her head on one side to study the effect ofthe bow she had just sewed on the basket, continued: "we can'tafford more than thirty dollars a month, but the work is light.

she would be expected to do a little fancy sewing between times.

we want a bright girl: stylish, and pleasant manners. you knowwhat i mean. not over thirty, anyhow; and nice-looking. will youwrite down the name?"ann eliza looked at her confusedly. she opened her lips toexplain, and then, without speaking, turned toward the crisply-curtained door.

"ain't you going to leave the ad-dress?" the young womancalled out after her. ann eliza went out into the throngedstreet. the great city, under the fair spring sky, seemed to throbwith the stir of innumerable beginnings. she walked on, lookingfor another shop window with a sign in it.