Instantly Mr. Gryce, with his soft tread, drew near to the old lady's side, and, leaning over her, murmured gently:
"I think it was Orcutt."
Instantly the old lady breathed a deep sigh and moved.
"Then her name was Mrs. Orcutt," said she, "and I thought you always called her Clemmens."
Miss Firman, recoiling, stared at Mr. Gryce, on whose cheek a faint spot of red had appeared—a most unusual token of emotion with him.
"Did she say it was Mrs. Orcutt," he pursued, in the even tones he had before used.
"She said——" But here the old lady opened her eyes, and, seeing her daughter standing at the foot of her bed, turned away with a peevish air, and restlessly pushed her hand under the pillow.
Mr. Gryce at once bent nearer.
"She said——" he suggested, with careful gentleness.
But the old lady made no answer. Her hand seemed to have touched some object for which she was seeking, and she was evidently oblivious to all else. Miss Firman came around and touched Mr. Gryce on the shoulder.