And she told Mary what Rowcliffe had said to her.
She had made room for her on her trunk and they sat there, their bodies touching, their heads drawn back, each sister staring with eyes that gave and took the other's horror.
* * * * *
"Don't, Molly, don't——"
Mary was crying now.
"Does Papa know—that she'll die—or go mad?"
"Yes."
"But"—Mary lifted her stained face—"that's what they said about
Mother."
"If she had children. It's if Ally hasn't any."
"And Papa knew it then. And he knows it now—how awful."