Mrs. Brigham pressed close to Caroline as she crossed the hall.
"He looked like a demon!" she breathed in her ear.
Henry led the way with an alert motion like a boy; Rebecca brought
up the rear; she could scarcely walk, her knees trembled so.
"I can't sit in that room again this evening," she whispered to
Caroline after supper.
"Very well, we will sit in the south room," replied Caroline. "I
think we will sit in the south parlour," she said aloud; "it isn't
as damp as the study, and I have a cold."
So they all sat in the south room with their sewing. Henry read
the newspaper, his chair drawn close to the lamp on the table.
About nine o'clock he rose abruptly and crossed the hall to the
study. The three sisters looked at one another. Mrs. Brigham
rose, folded her rustling skirts compactly around her, and began
tiptoeing toward the door.
"What are you going to do?" inquired Rebecca agitatedly.
"I am going to see what he is about," replied Mrs. Brigham
cautiously.
She pointed as she spoke to the study door across the hall; it was
ajar. Henry had striven to pull it together behind him, but it had
somehow swollen beyond the limit with curious speed.
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