"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. Drummond,” he continued, looking across at his vis-à-vis, “we look to you to give expression to our sentiments. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. Somebody to whom she would be necessary, who for days would have to depend upon her for the needs of life. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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