"My mother," he said concisely.
"Is she ill? Miss Prudence wrote to her last week"
"Does she ever reply?"
"I think so. Miss Prudence has not shown me her letters."
"Poor mother. I suppose so. I'm glad she writes at all. You don't know what it is to believe that God does not love you; to pray and have no answer; to be in despair."
"Oh, dear, no," exclaimed Marjorie, sympathetically.
"She is sure God has not forgiven her, she weeps and prays and takes no interest in anything."
"I should not think she would. I couldn't."
"She is with Delia now; the girls toss her back one to the other, and Clara wants to put her into the Old Lady's Home. She is a shadow on the house—they have no patience with her. They are not Christians, and their husbands are not—they do not understand; Delia's husband contends that she is crazy; but she is not, she is only in despair. They say she is no help, only a hindrance, and they want to get rid of her. She will not work about the house, she will not sew or help in anything, she says she cannot read the Bible—"
"How long since she has felt so?"