“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.