There will never be a home for me where she is; and, because she is there, no other woman can make a home for me.

Oh, I wish she would go away, and stay away! I would not care if I never saw her face again." There was something shocking and terrible to Grace about this outpouring.

It was dreadful to her to be the recipient of such a confidence, to hear these words spoken, and to more than suspect their truth.

She was quite silent for a few moments, as he still lay with his face down, buried in the sofa-pillow.
Then she went to her writing-desk, took out a little ivory miniature of their mother, came and sat down by him, and laid her hand on his head.
"John," she said, "look at this." He raised his head, took it from her hand, and looked at it.

Soon she saw the tears dropping over it.
"John," she said, "let me say to you now what I think our mother would have said.