Mrs.Birtwell rang a bell, and ordering the carriage, made herself ready to go out.
"Mrs.Voss says you must excuse her," said the servant who had taken up Mrs.Birtwell's card.

"She is not seeing any but the family," added the man, who saw in the visitor's face the pain of a great disappointment.
Slowly retiring, her head bent forward and her body stooping a little like one pressed down by a burden, Mrs.Birtwell left the house of her oldest and dearest friend with an aching sense of rejection at her heart.

In the darkest and saddest hour of her life that friend had turned from the friend who had been to her more than a sister, refusing the sympathy and tears she had come to offer.

There was a bitter cup at the lips of both; which was the bitterest it would be hard to tell.
"Not now," Mrs.Voss had said, speaking to her husband; "I cannot meet her now." "Perhaps you had better see her," returned the latter.
"No, no, no!" Mrs.Voss put up her hands and shivered as she spoke.

"I cannot, I cannot! Oh, my boy! my son! my poor Archie! Where are you?
Why do you not come home?
Hark!" The bell had rung loudly.