"Would to heaven she had never been born!" said Edith, bitterly. "Help me into the house, for I feel as if I should die."
Hannibal, trembling with fear himself, supported poor, exhausted Edith to a sofa, and then disappeared into the kitchen.
Mrs. Allen and Laura came and stood with white faces by Edith's languid, unnerved form.
There was no need of asking questions. She had returned alone, with her fresh young face looking old and drawn in its grief.
At last Mrs. Allen said, with bitter emphasis:
"She is no child of mine, from this day forth."
Then followed such a dreary silence that it might seem that Zell had died and was no more.
At last Hannibal bustled in, making a most desperate effort to keep up a poor show of courage and hope. He placed on a little table before Edith a steaming hot cup of tea, some toast, and wine, but the food was motioned away.
"It would choke me," said Edith.
Hannibal stood before her a moment, his quaint old visage working under the influence of emotion, almost beyond control. At last he managed to say: