'You speak so mysteriously.' 'Is it possible, mother,' her son leaned forward to be the nearer to her while he whispered it, and laid his hand nervously upon her desk, 'is it possible, mother, that he had unhappily wronged any one, and made no reparation ?' Looking at him wrathfully, she bent herself back in her chair to keep him further off, but gave him no reply.
'I am deeply sensible, mother, that if this thought has never at any time flashed upon you, it must seem cruel and unnatural in me, even in this confidence, to breathe it.

But I cannot shake it off.
Time and change (I have tried both before breaking silence) do nothing to wear it out.

Remember, I was with my father.

Remember, I saw his face when he gave the watch into my keeping, and struggled to express that he sent it as a token you would understand, to you.

Remember, I saw him at the last with the pencil in his failing hand, trying to write some word for you to read, but to which he could give no shape.