"Oh, of course, you are the mistress here, and I am to leave the house at your bidding. I shall do no such thing without my old friend Mrs. Rushmere turns me out."
Dorothy cast a glance of mingled pity and contempt upon the speaker. Just then, Mrs. Rushmere opened her eyes, and met Dorothy's anxious sympathizing glance.
"Dorothy, is he dead?" she asked in a faint voice.
"No, dearest mother. Do compose yourself."
"But is he mortally wounded? Tell me, tell me, the whole truth!"
Dorothy sank on her knees beside the chair, and passed her arms round Mrs. Rushmere's waist, so that her head could rest upon her shoulder, while she whispered in her ear. "He lost his right arm in the battle."
"And you did not tell me?"
"We wished to spare you unnecessary pain, dear mother."
"I know you did it for the best, Dorothy—but all this time, I would have prayed for him. A mother's earnest prayers are heard in heaven."
"That's downright popery, Mrs. Rushmere," chimed in the hard woman.