Mrs. Kemlo's chamber was the guest chamber; many among the poor and suffering whom Miss Prudence had delighted to honor had "warmed both hands before the fire of life" in that luxurious chamber.
Everything in the room had been among her father's wedding presents to herself—the rosewood furniture, the lace curtains, the rare engravings, the carpet that was at once perfect to the tread and to the eye, the ornaments everywhere: everything excepting the narrow gilt frame over the dressing bureau, enclosing on a gray ground, painted in black, crimson, and gold the words: "I HAVE SEEN THY TEARS." Miss Prudence had placed it there especially for Mrs. Kemlo.
Deborah had never been alone in the house in the years when her mistress was making a home for herself elsewhere.
Over the mantel hung an exquisite engraving of the thorn-crowned head of Christ. The eyes that had wept so many hopeless tears were fixed upon it as Marjorie and Prue entered the chamber.
"This is Miss Prudence's little girl Prue," was Marjorie's introduction.
Prue kissed her and stood at her side waiting for her to speak.
"That is the Lord," Prue said, at last, breaking the silence after
Marjorie had left them; "our dear Lord."
Mrs. Kemlo kept her eyes upon it, but made no response.
"What makes him look so sorry, Morris' mother?"
"Because he is grieving for our sins."