gh her pallid,
prematurely mature face and the thin figure in the regulation black
dress and white apron showed ordinarily only insignificant. "Tell me
now," she repeated, with a monotonous emphasis that somehow moved Sarah
to obedience against her will, greatly to her own surprise.

"They sent her to prison for three years," she answered, sharply.

"Three years?" The salesgirl had repeated the words in a tone that was
indefinable, yet a tone vehement in its incredulous questioning. "Three
years?" she said again, as one refusing to believe.

"Yes," Sarah said, impressed by the girl's earnestness; "three years."

"Good God!" There was no irreverence in the exclamation that broke from
the girl's lips. Instead, only a tense horror that touched to the roots
of emotion.

Sarah regarded this display of feeling on the part of the young woman
before her with an increasing astonishment. It was not in her own nature
to be demonstrative, and such strong expression of emotion as this she
deemed rather suspicious. She recalled, in addition, the fact that his
was not the first time that Helen Morris had shown a particular interest
in the fate of Mary Turner. Sarah wondered why.

"Say," she demanded, with the directness habitual to her, "why are you
so anxious about it? This is the third time you have asked me about Mary
Turner. What's it to you, I'd like to know?"

The salesgirl started violently, and a deep flush drove the accustomed
pallor from her cheeks. She was obviously much disturbed by the
question.

"What is it to me?" she repeated in an effort to gain time. "Why,
nothing--nothing at all!" Her expression of distress lightened a little
as she hit on an excuse that might serve to justify her interest.
"Nothing at all, only--she's a friend of mine, a great friend of mine.
Oh, yes!" Then, in an instant, the look of relief vanished, as once
again the terrible reality hammered on her consciousness, and an
overwhelming dejection showed in the dull eyes and in the drooping
curves of the white lips. There was a monotone of desolation as she
went on speaking in a whisper meant for the ears of no other. "It's
awful--three years! Oh, I didn't understand! It's awful!--awful!" With
the final word, she hurried off, her head bowed. She was still murmuring
brokenly, incoherently. Her whole attitude was of wondering grief.

Sarah stared after the girl in complete mystification. She could not at
first guess any possible cause for an