"You see—how it hurts when Boswell plays with you?"
A note of bitterness crept into the voice.
"When the day of reckoning comes—it hurts, it hurts like—hell!"
He had forgotten the girl, the white, frantic face.
"Tell me, tell me when she, my poor mother, died?"
The words brought him back sharply, and with wonderful tenderness he told her.
"Long Jean was with her. She would have her and no other, because she said Jean had helped you into the world and only she should help her out. It is a beautiful story they tell in Kenmore of your mother's passing. She thought she was going to you. She seemed quite happy once she found the way!
"'I have found her!' she cried just at the last, 'and she—understands!'"
"And I did, I did!" sobbed Priscilla.
A passerby noticed the sound and paused to look at the two sharply.