Dr. Davenal was upon her so quickly that she could not conceal her glistening eyes. She started up to welcome him, and laid down the book. Owing to that most attentive habit of Neal's, of being on the watch and opening the door before people could get to it, she had not heard him come home. "O papa, is it you? You have been away a long while." "Sit down," he said, pressing her into her chair again. "What's the grief, Sara?" "No grief, papa. I was only thinking." "What about? The accident last night?" "O no, not that. I hear that everybody's going on quite well. I was thinking--I was wondering--somehow I often get thinking on these things on a Sunday, when I am sitting alone, and the sky seems so calm and near," she broke off. "Well, what were you thinking?" "I was wondering whether they who are gone can look down and see us--see me just as I sit here looking up--whether they can read my thoughts. We seem so divided, papa; you and I and Edward left; mamma and Richard, and the two little ones who were between me and Edward, gone." "Divided for a short while only, child." "Yes, I know. The only one I can remember well is Richard. I am beginning to lose almost all recollection of mamma. But Richard--papa, at times I seem to see him before me now!" Dr. Davenal turned to the window and stood with his back to Sara, looking out. She repented having spoken of her brother; somehow the words had slipped out in the fulness of her thoughts. Rising, she stole her hand into Dr. Davenal's. "I forgot, papa," she softly whispered. "Forgot what, my child?" he asked. "Nay, it might be just as well if we all spoke more of Richard, instead of shunning his name. Silence will not bring him back to us." "Ah no, it will not!" "And when once griefs can be talked of, their sting becomes less poignant. Did the post bring any letters this morning?" the doctor added, after a pause. "Not for you, papa. There was one--how could I forget to tell you?--there was one for me from Edward." "And what does he say?" "He has not been able to get leave yet. At least, from the tenor of his letter, I don't much think he has asked for it. He says there's a great deal to do; that the preparations are going on very quickly; but no orders have been received yet as to the day for embarking. As soon as they are issued he will let us know." "But he means to come down?" "O yes. He will be sure to come, he says, though it should be to arrive by one train and return by the next. He writes in great spirits, and asks me--in a joke you know, papa--if I will pack up my boxes and go out with him." "He---- What is it, Neal! My dinner?" "Yes, sir. It is served." CHAPTER XV. MARK CRAY'S MISTAKE.