another room. I was standing there alone with the mother, who leaned
against the dressing-case, her hands behind her back, gripping the
woodwork. She was a magnificent, majestic-looking lady; the father also
was a tall fine-looking man. It was easy to discover whence the
daughter had inherited her beauty.

"Who are you?" she gasped.

I explained.

"Tell me, did you know my darling girl?" she inquired.

"No, dear lady, not in life, although I had seen her," I replied.

"Where? where had you seen her?" she next interrogated.

"In the house where she boarded," I answered.

"Was her husband with her?" she inquired.

"No, not that I heard of," was my reply

Next came that dreadful, dreadful question. She shrieked it:

"Tell me, madam, was--it--all--right--with--my--baby--girl?"...

My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. I tried to answer. Not one
word could I utter. The mother with the exclamation. "O my God!" went
down in a heap on the floor and I with her. For a long time the silence
remained unbroken. She was the first to speak: