Then in thought she entered the house.  The room which had been her father’s and the library which held his books.  Could she sell those!  She shivered, as in imagination she heard the careless inventory of the auctioneer.  She had never attended an auction except once, and then she had hurried away, for it seemed to her the pictured faces were misty with tears and she fancied the draperies sighed, as they waved in the wind which swept through the gaping windows.  There were the engravings which she loved and the pictures her father had brought with him from Europe, and the rare old china and her mother’s silver service, and her store of delicate napery and household linen; while every table and chair had a story and the very walls of each room were dear.  Had she been making idols of these things in her heart?

Miss Diana knelt beside the couch, comfortable as only old-fashioned couches know how to be.  “Dear Christ,” she cried, “I am thy follower and I have gone shod with velvet while thy feet were travel-stained, and I have slept upon eider-down while thou hadst not where to lay thine head!”

She knelt on, motionless, until the twilight fell and the stars began to peep out in the sky.  Then she went down-stairs and there was a strange, exalted look upon her sweet face.

“Unavella,” she cried softly, “I have found the sunlight, for I can say ’The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.’”

“Oh, Miss Di-an!” wailed Unavella, “I b’lieve you’re goin’ ter die an’ be an angul afore the moon changes!”

* * * * *

Miss Diana had been to see her lawyer and he had confirmed her decision.  Her income was gone.  With the exception of a couple of hundred dollars, coming to her from a different source, she was penniless.  There was nothing left her but to sell.

When she reached home that night she looked very white and weary, but her smile was all the sweeter because of the unshed tears.  Unavella had spread her supper in the porch.  She ate but little, however.  “I am sorry I cannot do more justice to your skill, Unavella,” she said with her gentle courtesy, “but I do not seem to feel hungry lately.”

“It’s that li-yar!” muttered Unavella grimly, as she cleared the things away.  “I never knowed a li-yar yit that didn’t scare all the appetite away from a body.”

When her work was finished she came back to the porch where Miss Diana was sitting very still in the moonlight.  “Miss Di-an!” she exclaimed impetuously, “don’t you go fer to be thinkin’ of sellin’!  I’ve got a plan that beats the li-yar’s all holler, ef he duz wear a wig.”

“Sit down, Unavella,” said her mistress kindly, “and tell me what it is.”

“Well, I haven’t said nuthin’ to you before, ’cause I knowed it would only hurt you ef I wuz to let my feelin’s loose about them thievin’ rapscallions that dared to lay their cheatin’ hands on the money the Gin’rel left ye; but I’ve been a thinkin’—­stiddy—­an’ while you wuz comin’ to your decision above I wuz comin’ to mine below, an’ now we’ll toss ’em up fer luck, an’ see which wins, ef you air willin’.”