I suppose this is my daughter's house, an' I've got a perfect right in it, but I'm a-goin'." Mrs.Jane Maxwell went out, her ribbons and silken draperies fluttering as if her own indignation were a wind, but Flora stayed.
The women led Jane Field into her little bedroom, took off her bonnet and shawl and dress as if she were dead, and made her lie down.

They bathed her head with camphor, they plied her with soothing arguments, but she kept on her one strain.

She was singularly docile in all but that.

Mrs.Green dropped on her knees beside the bed and prayed.

When she said amen, Jane Field called out her confession as if in the ear of God.