So between us we made quite enough to live on--till he died." Her voice sank--and she paused--then she added--"I've lived alone here ever since." He listened attentively.
"And that is all your history, Mary?
What of your mother ?" he asked.
Mary's eyes softened and grew wistful.
"Mother died when I was ten,"-- she said--"But though I was so little, I remember her well.

She was pretty--oh, so very pretty! Her hair was quite gold like the sun,--and her eyes were blue--like the sea.

Dad worshipped her, and he never would say that she was dead.

He liked to think that she was always with him,--and I daresay she was.

Indeed, I am sure she was, if true love can keep souls together." He was silent.
"Are you tired, David ?" she asked, with sudden anxiety,--"I'm afraid I'm talking too much!" He raised a hand in protest.
"No--no! I--I love to hear you talk, Mary! You have been so good to me--so more than kind--that I'd like to know all about you.