"I only wished to know, dear," and her tone breathed gentleness as she turned and fixed her pensive eyes on his. "I knew he was living, and——"
"Where—do you know where?" he broke out, almost with a cry. "My mother didn't know, and——"
"No, I don't know where," she interrupted, her eyes now looking far without; "but I know he's living yet. We'll both know more some day—what's in that letter, Harvey?" the voice betokening that the subject was dismissed, at least for the present.
"It's something you'll be glad to read," he answered absently as he handed it to her.
Deep silence reigned a while.
"I knew it, Harvey," she said when she had finished. "I expected this—I was waiting for you to come home. I wanted to see you very much. Can you think what for?"
"I don't know," Harvey answered abstractedly, musing still.
"Barlow," she called.
"Yes, mum," a sepulchral voice answered from the hall, followed a moment later by the apparition of the never distant servant.
"You know the vault, Barlow?"