"It is hardly natural that she should feel it as deeply as Mary," said Mrs. Campbell to Billy Bender, who was present.
He made no reply, but he never forgot that scene; and when years after he met with Ella on terms of perfect equality,—when he saw her petted, flattered, and admired, he turned away from the fawning multitude, remembering only the April morning when she stood by the dead body of her sister.
During all this time no trace of Sal Furbush had been seen, and at last a strict search was instituted but to no effect, until Billy, who chanced to be passing the dark closet under the garret stairs, heard her whispering to herself, "Yes, little Willie's dead, and Sally's got three in Heaven now."
Entering the place, he found her crouched in one corner, her hair hanging down her back, and her eyes flashing with unusual brightness.
"Why, Sally," said he, "what are you here for?"
"To save the credit of the house," was her ready reply. "When the other Willie died, they chained me in this dungeon, and thinking they might do so again, I concluded to come here quietly wishing to save all trouble and confusion, for the utmost decorum should be preserved in the house of death."
"Poor woman," said Billy kindly, "no one wishes you to stay here. Come with me,"—and he took her hand to lead her forth.
But she resisted him, saying, that "fasting and solitude were nature's great restoratives."
"She has showed her good sense for once," said Miss Grundy, on hearing of Sally's whereabouts, "but' ain't the critter hungry?" and owing to some newly touched chord of kindness, a slice of toast and a cup of hot tea erelong found entrance into the darksome cell.
Strange to say, too, the hand which brought it was not repulsed, though very demurely and in seeming earnestness was the question asked, "Mrs. Grundy, haven't you met with a change?"