Mrs. Carroll looked at her daughter a moment in utter silence, and her lips quivered strangely.
Then she caught up a corner of her homely check apron, and hiding her convulsed face in its folds, she burst into bitter weeping.
Xenie sprang up and threw her arms around the neck of the agitated woman.
"Oh, mamma," she cried, anxiously, "speak to me. Tell me what ails you? Where is Lora?"
As if that name had power to open the flood gates of emotion wider, Mrs. Carroll wept more bitterly than ever.
"Mamma, you frighten me," cried Xenie, terrified. "Oh, tell me where is Lora? Is she dead?"
"No, no—oh, better that she were!" sobbed her mother, wildly.
Mrs. St. John grew as pale as death. She shook her mother almost rudely by the arm.
"What has Lora done?" she cried. "Where is she? I will go and seek her."
She was rushing wildly to the door, but Mrs. Carroll sprang forward, and catching the skirt of her dress, pulled her back.