“When? how? Where did you ever see this red cross upon his temple?”
“I saw it, or one exactly like it, some years ago, upon an infant not three months old,” said Catharine, answering the impassioned interrogation with thoughtful sadness.
“And where?—not that the children could possibly have been the same, you know,—but where was the child with a cross like this?”
Catharine hesitated a moment, and then answered with grave composure,—
“The child was a nursling in the house of a poor Irish woman, who was kind to me when I wanted friends.”
“But where did this Irish woman find him? Of course, he had parents?” questioned the widow, breathlessly.
“I think he was an orphan.”
“Well, but where did she find him?”
Catharine grew very pale, but she answered quietly,—
“In Bellevue Hospital, I believe.”