Softly each daughter kissed that mother who would always remain the truest, dearest figure in their lives.
Downstairs in the stuffy little parlor, Dr. Weever interviewed them.
"Whoever allowed you two girls to come here?" he asked sharply. "You've no business to visit such a place. You're too young."
"Will our mother get better?" Jenny asked.
"Your poor mother is dying and you should be glad, because she suffers great pain all the time." His voice was harsh, but, nevertheless, full of tenderness.
"Will she die soon?" Jenny whispered. May was sobbing to herself.
"Very soon."
"Then I'd better tell my father to come at once?"
"Certainly, if he wants to see his wife alive."
Jenny did not go to the Orient that night, and when her father came in, she told him how near it was to the end.