The nurse, sitting in the window, noticed this also, and lowered it.

The thought of Sylvia crossed his brain for a moment; then he thought of his father; but every train of reflection dissolved almost as soon as it was formed, and he came back again and again to his mother's face.
It was perfectly peaceful and strangely young-looking, as if the cool, soothing hand of death, which presently would quiet all trouble for her, had been already at work there erasing the marks that the years had graven upon it.

And yet it was not so much young as ageless; it seemed to have passed beyond the register and limitations of time.

Sometimes for a moment it was like the face of a stranger, and then suddenly it would become beloved and familiar again.

It was just so she had looked when she came so timidly into his room one night at Ashbridge, asking him if it would be troublesome to him if she sat and talked with him for a little.