She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. They are horrible. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. The doctor had not heard from his people. "I'll have to set you right on that, too. For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death.
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