The old man sighed at the mention of his son's name, a tear stood in the eyes of the maidens, while one looked silently at the other, and seemed to exchange glances.
"I would that I might again see him before my body seeks its final home in the cold remorseless grave."
"Mother," said the fairest of the two maidens, "do not talk thus, let us hope that we yet may have many years of happiness together."
"Many, Emma?"
"Yes, mamma, many."
"Do you know that I am very old, Emma, very old indeed, considering what I have suffered, such a life of sorrow and ill health is at least equal to thirty years added to my life."
"You may have deceived yourself, aunt," said the other maiden; "at all events, you cannot count upon life as certain, for the strongest often go first, while those who seem much more likely to fall, by care, as often live in peace and happiness."
"But I lead no life of peace and happiness, while Henry Bradley is not here; besides, my life might be passed without me seeing him again."
"It is now two years since he was here last," said the old man,
"This night two years was the night on which he left."