’ ‘True enough,’ nodded Martha sadly. “Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Little more’n a week. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. We are in love. They thought that she was her own mother. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing.
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