Uncle Pat"-- with a wan smile--"was always smoking." Her sombre eyes were shadowed and sad, and there was a pinched, drawn look about her nostrils.

Major Durward regarded her with a concerned expression on his kindly face.
"You will miss him badly," he said.
"Yes, I shall miss him,"-- simply.

She returned his glance frankly.

"You are very like him, you know," she added suddenly.
It was true.

The big, soldierly man beside her, with his jolly blue eyes, grey hair, and short-clipped military moustache, bore a striking resemblance to the Patrick Lovell of ten years ago, before ill-health had laid its finger upon him, and during the difficult days that succeeded her uncle's death Sara had unconsciously found a strange kind of comfort in the likeness.