"Maria."
The plump little widow almost started out of her chair, the name was spoken so exactly as Sam would have said it.
"Did you know her, too?" he asked, looking keenly at her.
"Yes."
"Intimately?"
"Yes."
"Where is she now? Still happy with her husband, I suppose, and never giving a thought to the poor fellow she drove out into the world?"
"No," said Mrs. Townsend, shading her face with her hand, and speaking unsteadily; "no, her husband is dead."
"Ah! but still she never thinks of Sam."
There was a dead silence.