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-treeroote............