"I understand," she said.

The door closed softly behind her. She was smiling cheerily as she
crossed the room and bent over Gypsy Nan.

The woman stretched out her hand.

"The White Moll!" she whispered. "He told the truth, that bull did
- straight as they make 'em, and

"Don't try to talk," Rhoda Gray interrupted gently. "Wait until you
are a little stronger."

"Stronger!" Gypsy Nan shook her head. "Don't try to kid me! I
know. They told me. I'd have known it anyway. I'm going out."

Rhoda Gray found no answer for a moment. A great lump had risen
in her throat. Neither would she have needed to be told; she, too,
would have known it anyway - it was stamped in the gray pallor of
the woman's face. She pressed Gypsy Nan's hand.

And then Gypsy Nan spoke again, a queer, yearning hesitancy in her
voice:

"Do - do you believe in God?"

"Yes," said Rhoda Gray simply.

Gypsy Nan closed her eyes.