Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this sweeter? Very well. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail.
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