It was a voice of twenty years ago.

The burden on his breast lifted.

Then flashed the spirit, the old self-control of a man whose life had held many terrible moments.
"Mornin', miss.

I'm glad to meet you," he replied, and there was no break, no tone unnatural in his greeting.
So they gazed at each other, she with that instinctive look peculiar to women in its intuitive powers, but common to all persons who had lived far from crowds and to whom a new-comer was an event.

Wade's gaze, intense and all-embracing, found that face now closer in resemblance to the imagined Lucy's--a pretty face, rather than beautiful, but strong and sweet--its striking qualities being a colorless fairness of skin that yet held a rose and golden tint, and the eyes of a rare and exquisite shade of blue.
"Oh! Are you feeling ill ?" she asked.