g the donkey cart of a flower huckster in the
street below.

"You'd better get on your things," I said. "It is time for us to go."

Hephzy donned her hat and wrap. Then she came over to me.

"Don't be cross, Hosy," she pleaded. "I've been thinkin' it over all
night long and I've come to the conclusion that you are probably right.
She hasn't any real claim on us, of course; it's the other way around,
if anything. You do just as you think best and I'll back you up."

"Then you agree that we should tell her the truth."

"Yes, if you think so. I'm goin' to leave it all in your hands. Whatever
you do will be right. I'll trust you as I always have."

It was a big responsibility, it seemed to me. I did wish she had been
more emphatic. However, I set my teeth and resolved upon a course of
action. Pity and charity and all the rest of it I would not consider.
Right was right, and justice was justice. I would end a disagreeable
business as quickly as I could.

Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house, viewed from the outside, was no more
inviting at ten in the morning than it had been at four in the
afternoon. I expected Hephzy to make some comment upon the dirty steps
and the still dirtier front door. She did neither. We stood together
upon the steps and I rang the bell.

Mrs. Briggs herself opened the door. I think she had been watching from
behind the curtains and had seen our cab draw up at the curb. She was
in a state of great agitation, a combination of relieved anxiety,
excitement and overdone politeness.

"Good mornin', sir," she said; "and good mornin', lady. I've been
expectin' you, and so 'as she, poor dear. I thought one w'ile she was
that hill she couldn't see you, but Lor' bless you, I've nursed 'er same
as if she was my own daughter. I told you I would sir, now didn't I."

One word in this harangue caught my attention.

"Ill?" I repeated. "What do you mean? Is she worse than she was
yesterday?"

Mrs. Briggs held up her hands. "Worse!" she cried. "Why, bless your
'art, sir, she was quite well yesterday. Quite 'erself, she was, when
you come. But after you went away she seemed to go all to pieces like.
W'en I went hup to 'er, to carry 'er 'er tea--She always 'as 'er tea;
I've been a mother to 'er, I 'ave--she'll tell you so. W'en I went hup
with the tea there she was in a faint. W'ite as if she was dead. My
word, sir, I was frightened. And all night she's been tossin' about,
a-cryin' out and--"

"Where is she now?"