So intent was Jack in his admiration of the solemn beauty of the scene, that he saw not his chamber door slowly opening, nor noted the figure robed from head to feet in white that entered and glided towards him.
Was it a spirit?
If so, it was a very beautiful one. The face was very white in the moonbeams, the eyes very sad and dark, and darker still the wealth of waving hair that floated over the shoulders.
“Jack!”
Jack started now, and looked quickly round. Then a happy smile spread over his face as he arose and led his sister to a seat by his side.
“So like old, old times, Flora,” he said.
“So like old, old times, Jack,” said she.
He wrapped her knees in a great old Grant-tartan plaid.
“I knew you were still up, and that you were not happy, so I came to you. But, Jack—”
“Yes, dear.”