"How could he have done so, Mary? I never saw him alive."
"Alive! but he is not dead—whom are you talking about, mother?"
"Why, of Mr. Hudson, to be sure! Good heavens! what a cruel fool I am! I had no idea that they had not told you. Oh, Mary, I am so sorry!"
A very strange look came to Mary's face, half of bewilderment, half of terror. She put both hands to her forehead, and her brows knit, as if she were endeavouring to recall some terrible memory.
"Mr. Hudson!" she said in a dreamy voice as if speaking to herself. "Yes, I know he is dead—but how do I know it? Who told me? I can't remember. Something horrible happened to him—oh, my head, my head!" and an expression of pain passed over her pale features.
Catherine kissed her forehead.
"O, Mary, what have I done? I ought to have known."...
The girl interrupted her. "But I did not understand you, mother. Did you ask me whether I loved him very much?"
"Yes, darling! but let us not talk about this now!"
"You are mistaken," went on Mary quietly. "There never was any love between Mr. Hudson and me. Why, I only saw him once. He was very kind to me three years ago. I told you all about it. I was, of course, very grateful to him, and liked him very much, but love never entered my head."