now, Martha clinging to her arm.

Once inside, the nurse leaned panting against the
door, put her bands to her face as if she would
shut out some dreadful spectre, and sank slowly to
the floor.

"It is not me," she moaned, wringing her hands,
"not me--not--"

"Who?"

"Oh, I can't say it!"

"Lucy?"

"Yes"

"Not ill?"

"No; worse!"

"Oh, Martha! Not dead?"

"O God, I wish she were!"

An hour passed--an hour of agony, of humiliation
and despair.

Again the door opened and Jane stepped out--