He gazed at her in silence, gathering strength for some effort that was evidently on his mind.
'Father minds awfully,' he said at last, his look clouding.

'And there's no one--to--to cheer him up.' 'He loves you so,' said Elizabeth, with difficulty, 'he always has loved you so.' The furrow on his brow grew a little deeper.
'But that doesn't matter now--nothing matters but--' After a minute he resumed, in a rather stronger voice--'Tell me about the woods--and the ash trees.

I did laugh over that--old Hull telling you there were none--and you--Why, I could have shown him scores.' She told him all the story of the woods, holding his hot hand in her cool ones, damping his brow with the eau-de-cologne the nurses gave her, and smiling at him.

Her voice soothed him.

It was so clear and yet soft, like a song,--not a song of romance or passion, but like the cheerful crooning songs that mothers sing.