"Well?"
"Well—what?"
At that moment there were two raps at the shutter.
Mother sprang out of bed; in one minute she had torn down the string by which the shutter was held to, and thrown open the window, which had long been without a fastening.
"What is it?" she called into the street.
"Rebekah Zeinwill is dead!"
Mother left the window.
"Blessed be the righteous Judge!" said my father. "To die is nothing."
"Blessed be the righteous Judge!" said my mother. "We were just talking about her."
———