"It all fell to your sister?"
"Yes. All. The place, the old place, and all. She had everything."
"And kept it."
"O yes. Of course. She is a rich woman. Her husband has prospered in his business; and they are very well off now. They have only one child, too."
Mrs. Carpenter was silent, and Mr. Digby paused a minute or two before he spoke again.
"Still, my dear friend, do you not think your sister would shew herself your sister, if she knew where you are and how you are? Do you not think it would be right and kind to let her know?"
Mrs. Carpenter shook her head. "No," she said, "it would be no comfort to me; and you are mistaken if you think it would be any satisfaction to her. She is a rich woman. She keeps her carriage, and she has her liveried servants, and she lives in style. She would not like to come here to see me."
"I cannot conceive it," said Mr. Digby. "I think you must unconsciously be doing her wrong."
"I tried her," said Mrs. Carpenter. "I will not try her again. When my husband got into difficulties, and his health was giving way, and he was driven a little too hard, I wrote to my sister in New York to ask her to give us some help; knowing that she was abundantly able to do it, without hurting herself. She sent me for answer—" Mrs. Carpenter stopped; the words seemed to choke her; her lip quivered; and when she began to speak again her voice was a little hoarse.
"She wrote me, that if my husband died, she would have no objection to my going back to the old place, and getting along there as well as I could; Rotha and I."