“Yes, yes. But your uncle, you know, died of grief, and your m — mother — ”

“I know — so the lawyer said. Now at last we’ll read mother’s letter. He wondered, I suppose, that I didn’t look at it when he gave it to me, but I felt conscience-stricken. I’ve been so filled with my life down there — the peace, the blessed peace and happiness — that I have neglected her — my own mother. I couldn’t open and read it with that man’s eyes on me. No, no. Stay here, I beg of you, stay. You are different. I want you.”

He opened his mother’s letter and slowly read it, then passed it to his friend and, rising, walked to the window and stood gazing down into the square. Autumn leaves were being tossed