came to her memory she knew not from whence. But she shuddered at it. Polly's eyes, dazed, pleading like the lamb's, rose before her; or was it that Other Face, tender, thorn-crowned, that had been looking upon her in love all these long years!
She spoke so kindly to Pearl when she went into the kitchen that the little girl looked up apprehensively.
"Are ye not well, ma'am?" she asked quickly.
Mrs. Motherwell hesitated.
"I did not sleep very well," she said, at last.
"That's the mortgage," Pearl thought to herself.
"And when I did sleep, I had such dreadful dreams," Mrs. Motherwell went on, strangely communicative.
"That looks more like the cancer," Pearl thought as she stirred the porridge.
"We got bad news," Mrs. Motherwell said. "Polly is dead."
Pearl stopped stirring the porridge.