At last Dixon found what she wanted; what it was Margaret could not see. Dixon faced round, and spoke to her:
“Now I don’t like telling what I wanted, because you’ve fretting enough to go through, and I know you’ll fret about this. I meant to have kept it from you till night, may be, or such times as that.”
“What is the matter? Pray, tell me, Dixon, at once.”
“That young woman you go to see—Higgins I mean.”
“Well?”
“Well! she died this morning, and her sister is here—come to beg a strange thing. It seems, the young woman who died had a fancy for being buried in something of yours, and so the sister’s come to ask for it,—and I was looking for a night-cap that wasn’t too good to give away.”
“Oh! let me find one,” said Margaret, in the midst of her tears. “Poor Bessy! I never thought I should not see her again.”
“Why, that’s another thing. This girl downstairs wanted me to ask you, if you would like to see her.”
“But she’s dead!” said Margaret, turning a little pale. “I never saw a dead person. No! I would rather not.”
“I should never have asked you, if you hadn’t come in. I told her you wouldn’t.”