One asked in unmistakable New-England English:
"Laurance, where is your father?"
And a voice which had once epitomized for Minnie Merle the "music of the spheres," answered in mellow tones:
"He has been in London, but goes very soon to Italy."
Mrs. Waul felt a trembling hand laid on her arm, and turned anxiously to her companion.
"Give me time. My strength fails me. I can't walk so fast."
The excitement of an hour had overthrown the slow work of weeks; and after many days the physicians peremptorily ordered her away from Paris.
"Home! Let us go home. You have not been yourself since we reached this city. In New York you will get strong."
As Mrs. Waul spoke she stroked one of the invalid's thin hands, that hung listlessly over the side of the sofa.
"I think Phoebe is right. America would cure you," added the grey-haired man, whose heart was yearning for his native land.