“And so you cannot help me at all?” said Edith, in a disappointed voice.
“I cannot, my poor child,” answered the doctor.
All the flush and excitement died out of Edith's face. When she arose to go, she was pale and haggard, like one exhausted by pain, and her steps uneven, like the steps of an invalid walking for the first time. Dr. Radcliffe went with her in silence to the door.
“Oh, doctor,” said Edith, in a choking voice, as she lingered a moment on the steps, “can't you bring out of this frightful mystery something for my heart to rest upon? I want the truth. Oh, doctor, in pity help me to find the truth!”
“I am powerless to help you,” the doctor replied. “Your only hope lies in your mother. She knows all about it; I do not.”
And he turned and left her standing at the door. Slowly she descended the steps, drawing her veil as she did so about her face, and walked away more like one in a dream than conscious of the tide of life setting so strongly all about her.
CHAPTER V.
MEANTIME, obeying the unwelcome summons, Mrs. Dinneford had gone to see Mrs. Bray. She found her in a small third-story room in the lower part of the city, over a mile away from her own residence. The meeting between the two women was not over-gracious, but in keeping with their relations to each other. Mrs. Dinneford was half angry and impatient; Mrs. Bray cool and self-possessed.
“And now what is it you have to say?” asked the former, almost as soon as she had entered.