"Drip, drip, drip!" she continued to murmur, and did not stop till another sound diverted her attention. The door of the room was sharply opened, and Mrs. Flower entered. The woman stirred in her chair.
"Is that you, Prue?" asked Mrs. Flower. "Stop a minute; I'll get a light."
"No," replied the woman, "it isn't Prue."
"My God!" cried Mrs. Flower, "whose voice is that?"
She groped for the end of a candle, and lit it; holding it up, she looked at her visitor, who had risen, and was facing her.
"Martha!"
"Yes, Janey, it's me. You're not glad to see me, I dare say, after all these years."
"How can you say that? How long have you been here, and where's Prue?"
"I've been here--I don't know how long, and there was no one in the room when I came in. Who's Prue?"
"My little girl. Where can she have got to? I forgot, Janey. I didn't have a baby when----" She paused.