“You think I was praying for him, Miss Mary?”
The girl nodded her head quickly, and remained silent, for she could not trust herself to speak.
Sarah stood gazing before her in a strangely absent way, and went on muttering softly—
“Isaac, poor husband, you can rest now. If you can see all from where you are, look down upon me. You must feel content—you must be content, and forgive me for keeping you waiting so long.”
“Woodham,” said Mary gently, after standing watching the strange, weird face before her, and catching a word here and there, “you are ill; the shock of poor uncle’s death has been too much for you. There, try and be calm.”
“Miss Mary,” said the woman hoarsely, and her eyes glowed with her great excitement, “what do you mean? Have I been talking, like, in my sleep?”
“Yes,” said Mary, smiling in her troubled face, and trying to soothe her.
“Yes! What did I say? Quick; tell me. I didn’t say anything aloud?”
“Yes, you did. I heard parts of what you spoke.”
“Tell me!” cried the woman, excitedly. “Quick! What did I say?”