E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
EDNA'S SACRIFICE.
WHO WAS THE THIEF?
THE GHOST.
THE TWO BROTHERS.
WHAT HE LEFT.
It was a cold night in September. For three days therain had fallen almost unceasingly. It had been impossiblefor us to get out; and no visitors had been in.Everything looked dreary enough, and we felt so, truly.Of course the stoves were not prepared for use; and thisnight we (that is, Nell, Floy, Aunt Edna, and myself) werehuddled in the corners of the sofa and arm-chairs, wrappedin our shawls. We were at our wits' end for something towhile the hours away. We had read everything that wasreadable; played until we fancied the piano sent forth awail of complaint, and begged for rest; were at the backgammonboard until our arms ached; and I had givenimitations of celebrated actresses, until I was hoarse, andNell declared I was in danger of being sued for scandal.What more could we do? To dispel the drowsiness thatwas stealing over me, I got up, walked up and down thefloor, and then drew up the blind, and gazed out into thedeserted street. Not a footfall to be heard, neither man'snor beast's; nothing but patter, patter, patter. At length,after standing fully fifteen minutes—oh, joyful sound!—acoming footstep, firm and quick. My first thought wasthat those steps would stop at our door. But, directly after,I felt that very improbable, for who was there that wouldcome such a night? Papa was up north with mamma;Nell and Floy were visiting Aunt Edna and me, the onlyones home, save the servants. Neither of us had as yet alover so devoted or so demented as to come out, if he hadanywhere to stay in.
On and past went the steps. Turning away, I drewdown the blind, and said: "Some one must be ill, andthat was the doctor, surely: for no one else would go out,only those from direst necessity sent."
A deep sigh escaped Aunt Edna's lips, and althoughpartially shaded by her hand, I could see the shadow onthe beautiful face had deepened.
Why my aunt had never married was a mystery to me,for she was lovable in every way, and must have been verybeautiful in her youth. Thirty-six she would be nextMay-day, she had told me. Thirty-six seemed to me, justsixteen, a very great many years to have lived. But auntalways was young to us; and the hint of her being an oldmaid was always resented, very decidedly, by all her nieces.
"Aunt Edna," I said, "tell us a story—a love-story,please."
"Oh, little one, you have read so many! And what canI tell you more?" she answered, gently.
"Oh, aunty, I want a true story! Do, darling aunty,tell us your own. Tell us why you are blessing our homewith your presence, instead of that of some noble man, fornoble he must have been to have won your heart, and—hush-sh!Yes, yes; I know something about somebody,and I must know all. Do, please!"
I plead on. I always could do more with Aunt Ednathan any one else. I was named for her, and many calledme like her—"only not nearly so pretty" was alwaysadded.
At last she consented, saying:
"Dear girls, to only one before hav