He broke into a low, wavering cry, like a child's in despair, like an animal's in terror, like a soul's in the anguish of remorse.
VII.
The evening after the funeral, while the Marches sat together talking it over, and making approaches, through its shadow, to the question of their own future, which it involved, they were startled by the twitter of the electric bell at their apartment door.

It was really not so late as the children's having gone to bed made it seem; but at nine o'clock it was too late for any probable visitor except Fulkerson.

It might be he, and March was glad to postpone the impending question to his curiosity concerning the immediate business Fulkerson might have with him.

He went himself to the door, and confronted there a lady deeply veiled in black and attended by a very decorous serving-woman.
"Are you alone, Mr.March--you and Mrs.March ?" asked the lady, behind her veil; and, as he hesitated, she said: "You don't know me! Miss Vance"; and she threw back her veil, showing her face wan and agitated in the dark folds.

"I am very anxious to see you--to speak with you both.