tching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as
Laura drew near. The group parted. It was as though she was expected, as
though they had known she was coming here.

Laura was terribly nervous. Tossing the velvet ribbon over her shoulder,
she said to a woman standing by, "Is this Mrs. Scott's house?" and the
woman, smiling queerly, said, "It is, my lass."

Oh, to be away from this! She actually said, "Help me, God," as she
walked up the tiny path and knocked. To be away from those staring eyes,
or to be covered up in anything, one of those women's shawls even. I'll
just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan't even wait for it to
be emptied.

Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in the gloom.

Laura said, "Are you Mrs. Scott?" But to her horror the woman answered,
"Walk in please, miss," and she was shut in the passage.

"No," said Laura, "I don't want to come in. I only want to leave this
basket. Mother sent--"

The little woman in the gloomy passage seemed not to have heard her.
"Step this way, please, miss," she said in an oily voice, and Laura
followed her.

She found herself in a wretched little low kitchen, lighted by a smoky
lamp. There was a woman sitting before the fire.

"Em," said the little creature who had let her in. "Em! It's a young
lady." She turned to Laura. She said meaningly, "I'm 'er sister, miss.
You'll excuse 'er, won't you?"

"Oh, but of course!" said Laura. "Please, please don't disturb her. I--I
only want to leave--"

But at that moment the woman at the fire turned round. Her face, puffed
up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked terrible. She seemed
as though she couldn't understand why Laura was there. What did it mean?
Why was this stranger standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it
all about? And the poor face puckered up again.

"All right, my dear," said the other. "I'll thenk the young lady."

And again she began, "You'll excuse her, miss, I'm sure," and her face,
swollen too, tried an oily smile.

Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She was back in the passage.
The door opened. She walked straight through into the bedroom, where the
dead man was lying.

"You'd like a look at 'im, wouldn't you?" said Em's sister, and she
brushed past Laura over to the bed. "Don't be afraid, my lass,"--and now
her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly she drew down the sheet--"'e
looks a picture. There's nothing to show. Come a