A cold horror overcame Cynthia, but she held her position and whispered:
"Yes."
"Go to bed, honey. I'm—I'm sorry."
"Never mind, dear." Cynthia meant to play the old sad game that was the only one possible with the poor creature on the bed.
"I reckon it was—Thorndyke Bothwell over by Susie May Lanley's, wasn't it?"
"Yes, dear."
"Why didn't you tell me, Queenie? Why didn't you-all trust me. I—I didn't mean to—be hard."
"No, dear. Never mind. Go—to sleep now."
"Thorndyke Bothwell, he went away—but there must be—some one to remember. The—letter—take it—to——"
Then a spasm passed over the grim face upon the pillow. The fleeting sanity was vanishing—"The hearthstone—her—down at Trouble——"