“Destroyed? No; I haven’t done that.”
Ross drew a deep breath, and the hot color, which mounted to his face, died out as the woman completed her sentence.
“But they are not all on hand.”
“Not on hand?”
“What right have you to question me so? Most of the things are here; but we were starving, sir—starving! Do you know what that means? I pawned one or two things. There, you have the truth. Go in and look at the pale girl lying there; then wonder, if you can, that I gave up everything to keep her from dying before my eyes.”
“But they can be found? Surely they are not out of reach?” said Ross, anxiously.
“I don’t know. We haven’t been rich enough to redeem anything; but you shall have the tickets. Wait.”
Mrs. Laurence went up the back stairs, and left Ross walking restlessly up and down the kitchen. She was gone some time, but came down at last, carrying a bundle in her hand.
“Here are the things,” she said curtly. “Yellow as saffron, with lying; but here they are.”
She opened the bundle, and shook out a long infant’s frock, trimmed half a yard deep with Valenciennes lace and embroidery, all yellow with age, but of exquisite richness.