"Where is she?" he breathed in a quick short voice. "Tell me, Father, at once, please."
"Quite near here," said Mr. Duff. "Calm yourself, my son."
Instead of calming himself young Dallas gave a cry. The wind seizing a fold of the green veil had blown it lightly in his face.
The boy sprang to the other side of the tree and we heard his call, "My Mother!—my own Mother!"
Mr. Duff took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead, but I stepped the other side of the tree. I wanted to see this little woman's face.
There was nothing to see. She stood with head drooped like a woman who has come to the end of a long, long road and is satisfied.
Her boy's face was hidden in her veil while her arms were round him, and her cheek rested on his head.
From time to time she made little murmuring sounds as she stroked him. They would never be parted again.
Presently she looked up and I saw her eyes shining like diamonds from the sky.
"Douglas!" she said, "Douglas!"