"You have something to tell me."
My sister, who had been sitting opposite to us, rose suddenly without a word of explanation—rose and left the room.
My mother moved closer to me on the sofa and put her arms round my neck. Those fond arms trembled—the tears flowed fast over the faithful loving face.
"Walter!" she whispered, "my own darling! my heart is heavy for you. Oh, my son! my son! try to remember that I am still left!"
My head sank on her bosom. She had said all in saying those words.
It was the morning of the third day since my return—the morning of the sixteenth of October.
I had remained with them at the cottage—I had tried hard not to embitter the happiness of my return to them as it was embittered to me. I had done all man could to rise after the shock, and accept my life r
