Yet he knew her, and all his resolution once more wavered, as he reflected that he was still within reach of her voice and her smile.
He returned anxiously to the attic.

The baby lay asleep on the bed, and Tim, perched on his window seat, was crooning over a little doll.
There was a flower on the table; the scanty furniture of the room had been set in order, and his quick eye even noticed that a rent in Tim's frock which had caused him some concern in the morning had been neatly mended.
Tim came and put the little doll into his hands.
"She gave it me.

Will she soon come again ?" said the child.
"Yes; she's sure to come again." "You ran away; you was afraid.

I wasn't." In a strange turmoil of emotions Jeffreys resumed his writing.

The flower in the cup beside him was only a half-withered aster, yet it seemed to him to perfume the room.
After dark the neighbour put her head into the room.
"Then you didn't see the lady ?" said she.
"No; I was out." "It's a pity.