r an
untruth. I thank God for that, at least!"

"_She_ says," said Ruth, checkmated in an attempt to use any name she
could call her real mother by, without some self-blame for the
utterance, "_she_ says the story is one-half true, but 'twas her best
friend died of the bite--not she! But she died in great suffering."

"Ah--the poor thing! Mary Ann Stennis."

"That was the name."

"Will she be able to tell more? Will she tell us who her husband was?"

"Her husband!" Ruth thought this was new trouble--that the Granny's head
had given way under the strain. "Her husband was my father, mother,"
said she. "Think!"

But old Phoebe was quite clear. "I am all right, child," said she
reassuringly. "Her _second_ husband. Marrable was _my_ second, you know,
else I would still have been Cropredy. Why is she not Daverill?"

Ruth was really the less clear of the two. "Oh yes!" said she
wonderingly. "She is Mrs. Prichard, still."

"Please God we shall know all!... What was that?"

"I must go to her.... Come!" For old Maisie had called out. Her daughter
went back to her quickly, and Granny Marrable followed, not far behind.

"Come, dear, come.... I called for you to know.... Come, Phoebe, come
near, and let me tell you.... He was not so wicked.... Oh no, oh no--it
was none of his own doing--I shall be able ... directly...." Thus old
Maisie, gasping for breath, and falling back on the pillow from which
she had part risen. The hectic flush in her face was greater, and her
eyes were wild under her tangle of beautiful silver hair. Both were
afraid for her, for each knew what fever might, mean. They might lose
her, almost without a renewal of life together.

Still, it might be no more than the agitation of a moment, a passing
phase. They tried to pacify her. How _could_ the letter be none of
Daverill's own doing? But she would not be soothed--would say the thing
she had set her mind to say, but failed to find the words or breath for.
What was it she was trying to say? Was it about the letter?

Elizabeth-next-door came into the room, tentatively. Ostensible reason,
inquiry about breakfast; actual reason, curiosity. Sounds of speech
under stress had aroused, and a glance at old Maisie intensified it.
Widow Thrale would come directly, but for the moment was intent on
hearing what Mrs. Prichard was saying. To Elizabeth, Maisie continued
Mrs. Prichard.

She would not leave unsaid this thing she was bent on:--"No, dear! No,
dear! I