Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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