"What is your request?" came her answer, full of predicated denial.
"To see Natalia before I leave."
Mrs. Brandon lifted her eyes in surprise.
"To-night? Now? Surely you know that would be impossible!"
"It would be for the last time," Sargent answered tentatively.
"Pardon me—but I can not think of it. Perhaps I might consent before she goes—"
"After to-night it will be too late."
For answer Mrs. Brandon lifted the candlestick and passed out into the hall.
In his plain room, the walls of whitewashed logs, and the spotless floor covered with rag rugs, he pulled out the worn little hair trunk which had come on the long journey from Maine with him. There was not very much that he had to put in it, and when he had filled the tray, piling one end with his much used books, he paused a moment, holding the last one in his hand and gazing a long time at the fly leaf. It recalled vividly that day—so far off now—when he and his mother had packed the same little trunk, and she had given him the book as her last gift, to be taken with him wherever he went. Her words were there before him on the page now. He read them over and over again:
"My son, neglect not to peruse these sacred writings with interest, that you may obtain that virtue which will guide you through life's thorny path, fit you for an usefulness in life, peace in death, and happiness in the spirit land."