The low solemn voice ceased, and in the silence that followed, only the dull patter of the rain, and the persistent purring of a kitten curled up on the cot were audible.  Mrs. Singleton finished the buttonhole in Dick’s apron, and threaded her needle.

“If it comforts you at all to believe that, I have no right to say anything.”

“You think, however, that I am the victim of some hallucination?”

“Not even that.  I think you had a very vivid dream, and being exhausted, you mistook a feverish vision for a real apparition.  I can’t believe your mother is dead, because if such were the case, Dyce would have returned at once, and told us.”

“Dyce has a kind heart, and shrinks from bringing me the sad news; for she knows my cup was already full.  I know that my mother is dead.  Time will show you that I make no mistake.  The veil was lifted, and I saw beyond.”

“Maybe so; may be not.  I am stubborn in my opinions, and I never could think it possible for flesh to commune with spirits.  Don’t let us talk about anything that disturbs you, until you regain your strength.  Why will you not try a little of this port wine?  Miss Gordon brought it yesterday, and insisted I should give it to you, three times a day.  It is very old and mellow.  Look at things practically.  God kept you alive for some wise purpose, and since you are obliged to face trouble, is it not better to arm yourself with all the physical vigor possible?  Drink this, and lie down.”

As Beryl mechanically drained the glass and handed it back, Mrs. Singleton added: 

“I believe I told you, Miss Gordon is Mr. Dunbar’s sweetheart.  Their engagement is no secret, and he is a lucky man; for she is as good as she is pretty, and as sweet as she is rich.  She has shown such a tender interest in you, and manifests so much sympathy, that I am sure she will influence him in your favor, and I feel so encouraged about your future.”

A shadowy smile crossed the girl’s wan face,

“Invest no hope in my future; for escape is as impossible for me, as for that innocent victim foreordained to entangle his horns in the thicket on Mount Moriah.  He could have fled from the sacrificial fire, and from Abraham’s uplifted knife, back to dewy green pastures poppy-starred, back to some cool dell where Syrian oleanders flushed the shade, as easily as I can defy these walls, loosen the chain of fate, elude my awful doom.”

“It is because you are not yet yourself, that you take such a despairing view of matters.  After a while, things will look very different, and you are too plucky to surrender your life without a brave fight.  A great change has come over Mr. Dunbar, and there is no telling what he cannot do, when he sets to work.  If ever a lawyer’s heart has been gnawed by remorse, it is his.  He and Miss Gordon together can pull you out of the bog, and I believe they will.”

“Mr. Dunbar’s professional reputation is more precious in his sight than a poor girl’s life; moreover, even if he desired to undo his work, he could not.  I am beyond human succor.  Fate nails me to a cross, but God consents; so I make no struggle, for behind fate stands God—­and my father.”