And, as she read, she sighed again.
She did not hear the back door of the parsonage open and close softly.
Nor did she hear the cautious footsteps in the rooms below.

What aroused her from her reading was her own name, spoken at the foot of the stairs.
"Keziah! Keziah, are you there ?" She started, sprang up, and ran out into the hall, the letter still in her hand.
"Who is it ?" she asked sharply.

"Mr.Ellery, is that you ?" "No," was the answer.

"It's me--Nat.

Are you busy, Keziah?
I want to see you for a minute." The housekeeper hurriedly thrust the letter into her waist.
"I'll be right down, Nat," she answered.