"Any news from Miss Green lately, Janet?"
One night Janet had something better than news—a letter and a photograph.
"There! What do you think of that, now?"
Victor read the letter in its bold, clear, unaffected handwriting, and then holding the photograph under the lamp in his trembling fingers (Janet was sure they were trembling) he said, in a voice that was also trembling:
"Don't you think she's like my mother—just a little like?"
"'Deed she is, dear," said Janet. "You've put the very name to it. And that's to say she's like the loveliest woman that ever walked the world—in this island anyway."
Victor could never trust his voice too soon after Janet said things like that (she was often saying them), but after a while he laughed and answered:
"I notice she doesn't walk the island too often, though. She hasn't come here for ages."
"Oh, but she will, boy, she will," said Janet, and then she left him, for he was almost undressed by this time, to get into bed and dream.
III