"Is that your little girl? A fine child: isn't she?"
"She is very healthy," said Letty. "She has never known a day's illness in her life. Una, this is the mother of Cousin Madge, of whom I have so often told you."
"You have another child, have you not?" she asked, after another interval of silence.
"Yes; a fine little fellow, over a year old."
"I suppose you heard how I lost my boy?" said Agnes.
"Yes; Gatty De Witt sent us a paper containing the account. I wrote to you as soon as I heard of it."
"I never received the letter," said Agnes. "I had a feeling that you would write if you heard; though I hardly know what reason I had to expect it."
"It was a terrible accident, and seemed a very mysterious one," said Letty, thinking she saw a desire on the part of Agnes to continue the conversation. "Did you have a wood-fire in the nursery?"
"There was no fire of any kind," said Agnes, abruptly. She paused, looked around, and then drew close to Letty. "Letty, that child was murdered!—Murdered by his own father!"
"Agnes! What do you mean?" said Letty. "You don't know what you are saying!"