smooth her raven down by extraordinary diligence and attention. But
there was something about the girls she did not understand--had not
anticipated. They stopped talking when she came in; or rather, I
should say, stopped listening, for Sally Leadbitter was the talker
to whom they were hearkening with deepest attention. At first they
eyed Mary, as if she had acquired some new interest to them since
the day before. Then they began to whisper; and, absorbed as Mary
had been in her own thoughts, she could not help becoming aware that
it was of her they spoke.

At last Sally Leadbitter asked Mary if she had heard the news?

"No! What news?" answered she.

The girls looked at each other with gloomy mystery. Sally went on.

"Have you not heard that young Mr. Carson was murdered last night?"

Mary's lips could not utter a negative, but no one who looked at her
pale and terror-stricken face could have doubted that she had not
heard before of the fearful occurrence.

Oh, it is terrible, that sudden information, that one you have known
has met with a bloody death! You seem to shrink from the world
where such deeds can be committed, and to grow sick with the idea of
the violent and wicked men of earth. Much as Mary had learned to
dread him lately, now he was dead (and dead in such a manner) her
feeling was that of oppressive sorrow for him.

The room went round and round, and she felt as though she should