Kat went on. "You see, Calista and I are so tender-hearted, so sympathetic with the sorrows of others; and perhaps we went too far in our effort to bring a little consolation into the life of a pitiful old woman."
Bert was watching her through narrowed eyes, but taking no part in the conversation.
"You see," continued Kat, plaintively, "when Mr. McKnight told us of his mother's hopeless grief and sorrow, it just cut us to the soul. His brother, who was murdered here, was her youngest son, her baby; and her life just almost went out when that awful tragedy occurred. She has been only a grief-stricken wreck ever since. And so, at last, to try to take her mind away from her brooding sorrow, her older son, Carter, told her about the child, in the hope that the thought might in some measure assuage her grief.
"How did he know about it?" asked Bert now, tersely.
"Why—why—" said Kat, hesitating; "—his brother had—had written him about the—about the situation; and so when the tragedy happened," she was going more smoothly now, "he knew of course what had been the real cause. That was the way of it," she added, with a sort of satisfied conviction.
Bert made no comment and Kat went on; "But instead of the knowledge satisfying his mother; the thought of a grandchild of her own, away off here
