Her look and her tone filled Lizzy with terror, and banished her grief for the time being.
"Mercy, Mercy, don't look so!" she exclaimed.

"Speak to me! Oh, do cry, can't you ?" And Lizzy's tears flowed afresh.
"No, Lizzy, I don't think I can cry," said Mercy, in the same strange, low voice.

"I wish I could have spoken to him once, though.

Did he leave any word for me?
Perhaps there is something he wanted me to do." Mercy's face was white, and her lips trembled; but her look was hardly the look of one in sorrow: it was a rapt look, as of one walking on dizzy heights, breathless with some solemn purpose.

Lizzy was convulsed with grief, sobbing like a child, and pouring out one incoherent sentence after another.