upon the child, and a trifle askance.

"Yes, sir," was Ida's reply.

"I have just been at the hospital. Your mother is dead."

His voice gave way a little between the first and the last letter of
the last word. Perhaps the sound was more to his ear than the
thought had been to his mind. Perhaps, also, he felt when it was too
late that he ought to have made this announcement with something
more of preparation. Ida's eyes were fixed upon his face, and seemed
expanding as they gazed; her lips had parted; she was the image of
sudden dread. He tried to look away from her, but somehow could not.
Then two great tears dropped upon her cheeks, and her mouth began to
quiver. She put her hands up to her face, and sobbed as a grown
woman might have done.

Mr. Woodstock turned away for a minute, and fingered a china
ornament on the mantelpiece. He heard the sobs forcibly checked,
and, when there was silence, again faced his grandchild.

"You'll be left all alone now, you see," he said, his voice less
hard. "I was a friend of your mother's, and I'll do what I can for
you. You'd better come with me to my house."

Ida looked at him in surprise, tempered with indignation.

"If you were a friend of mother's," she said, "why did you want to
take me away from her and never let her see me again?"