They meant more than she could ever say to another, however close and dear to her.

The secret of her mother's life lay in the grave and in her own mind; the one would render it up as soon as the other.

For never would Ida tell in words of that moment when there had come to her maturing intelligence clear insight into her mother's history, when the fables of childhood had no longer availed to blind her, and every recalled circumstance pointed but to one miserable truth.
"She's happier than we are," Waymark said solemnly.

"Think how long she has been resting." Ida became silent, and presently spoke with a firmer voice.
"They took her to a hospital in her last illness, and she died there.

I don't know where her grave is." "And what became of you?
Had you friends to go to ?" "No one; I was quite alone .-- We had been living in lodgings.