Good-bye." "Your loving daughter," "Lizzie." The letter, which had been placed in an envelope and directed by Lizzie's own hand, came in a larger envelope, and with it a slip of paper on which was written in a good firm hand, "Your poor daughter died this morning.

Yours truly, Mary Smith." The letter bore the Birmingham postmark, but no other clue.
"We don't even know where she died," sobbed Thomas, "that I may go and bring her home to bury her," and this thought hurt the poor old man cruelly.
"If you did know, he probably wouldn't let you have her poor body, not if he thought you wanted it," cried Patience bitterly.

She could not bring herself to mention her son-in-law by name.

"He would hurry her into her grave rather than she should come back to us," and then she burst into bitter weeping again..