She was thinking of a conversation she had had with The Forge doctor that very day.
"I—I wish you would work with me," she had pleaded; "they would accept you; obey what you say and—give me a chance."
The doctor had laughed good-naturedly. Miss Lowe amused him hugely. She seemed to him like a child playing with sugar and bread pills.
"My dear young lady," he had said; "they'd shoot me, and with good reason, if I let any petticoat Saw Bones tamper with them; no insult intended—only compliment, dear lady! Your books read like fairy stories; I'm too old a hand to be taken in. The revised Bible, ma'am, is dangerous for souls, and new ideas in physic are about the same for bodies. I read when I can—but I'm too human to experiment on my kind. A few old remedies and a good stiff bluff are all that are needed up-er-here. Now as to you, my dear young miss, I'd have to put you under lock and key or buy you a return ticket to that fly-in-the-face-of-Providence state of yours if you tampered with the bodies of these people. That uncle of yours juggled considerable in his day, but souls are one thing; bodies, another."
Marcia Lowe now clasped her hands behind her tired head and raised her eyes to the low ceiling.
"Just for one faithful soul!" she murmured; "no, one faithful body that would trust itself to me for—a month; a month! A few days of starvation; a magic little pill; a spell of patient waiting and then—a miracle."
But no response came from the stillness of the night and Miss Lowe was about to make preparations for bed when a sound outside stayed her. Then came a knock on the door! She went to the small window beside the door, drew aside the dainty white curtain, opened it halfway and asked:
"Is that you, Hope?" She had promised Liza to bide with her when her hour came, but it was not Hope who replied:
"This is Martin Morley, ma'am. Me and lil' Molly."
The door was opened at once and closed after the two.