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When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. She was poor. The brilliant sunshine poured through the window, effecting an oblong block of mote-swimming light. She passed down the stairs and into the street. "What has happened?" asked Sister Prudence. At the same time,” she added, in a suddenly altered tone, “it isn’t anything whatever to do with you, is it?” “Why not?” he answered. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. " "Perhaps I read of it somewhere. ’ ‘You see, I am of them,’ she said seriously, ‘but not with them—yet. Wood.
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