"And when will that be, Doctor?"
"In a few hours, at most; I cannot tell exactly."
"And there is no hope?" asked Mrs. Gray, smoothing the marble brow on the pillow, as she would have touched her Maggie.
"Absolutely no hope, Mother," said the physician, who knew her well.
"Ah well, tis better so," murmured the old lady. "This world is not the place for such as she. Christ may forgive, but men won't. The man alone can go free. And the little one too—surely God is good to take them both together. Will she come to, do you think, Doctor, before she goes?"
"Yes, it is probable that she will rally for a little while, and you may find out her name perhaps. There was no mark on her clothing, you say?"
"Not the sign of a mark, and she would tell me nothing; and see, there is no wedding ring."
They were silent for some time, and then: "She is awakening," said the doctor.
The blue eyes opened slowly and looked wonderingly about the room. "Mother," she said, in a weak voice, "Mother—who are you?—" looking at the doctor and Mrs. Gray. "Where am I?" and she tried to raise her head.
"There, there, dear; lie still now and rest. You have been sick you know. We are your friends and this is the doctor. Your mother shall come when you tell us where to send for her."