Then they listened as if their hearts were in their ears. They heard feet upon the stairs and then a gentle tap, and the lady from over the way stood in their room.
“I saw you at the window,” she said, “and came over to wish you a merry Christmas. How is this? Are you all alone?”
“No, ma’am, mamma is in the bed there; but she was very tired yesterday, and she hasn’t waked up.”
An awful terror seized Mrs. Rosenburgh. Had this woman died of want and weariness, in sight of her own windows? She stepped to the bedside, and drew away the clothes gently from the face of the sleeper. She looked a moment on that fair, faded face, and then she grew white as death.
“Children,” she asked, “what are your names?”
“I am Ethel Vanderheyden,” the oldest girl answered, “and she is Annie.”
“And your mother—was she Ethel Carlisle once?”
“Yes, ma’am, before she married papa.”
“And your little sister is Annie?”