But oh!--what we can bear and not die! I came back to my father, and for eight years I never slept without crying--without the ghost of the boy's head against my breast.

Again and again I used to wake up in an ecstasy, feeling it there--feeling the curls across my mouth."' A deep sob choked her.

Lucy, in a madness of pity, struggled to release herself that she might throw her arms round the kneeling figure.

But Eleanor's grasp only tightened.

She hurried on.
'But last year, I began to hope.