“Then I may hope that you will accept?” “Oh, certainly, with very great pleasure. Please present my warmest acknowledgments to Char—Mr. Frobisher, and say that I shall be at his command so soon as I shall have recovered my strength somewhat.” He paused for a moment; then, throwing back his head with a little laugh: “By the way,” he continued, “I beg you will not misinterpret my singular way of receiving the invitation. It was such a surprise, and I am still a little weak, you know.” “You must allow me to add how much gratified I, too, am at your decision. You know—or do you not?—that the invitation is to my grandfather’s place, Elmington.” “Elmington?” “Ah, I see—very naturally, you don’t understand that Charley lives with my grandfather.” “With your grandfather? Why, how can that be? I thought his place adjoined your—” And he stopped suddenly. “Please be so good as to explain,” he added, in a low voice. “Well, this rather peculiar state of things came about in this way. My mother died before I was a month old, and my father, my grandfather’s only son, survived her less than a year; so that I was brought up by the old gentleman. Now, Charley’s place adjoined Elmington, my grandfather’s, their respective residences being not over a half-mile apart; and so Charley got into the habit—however, I must mention that Charley lost his father years ago, and, about ten years since, his mother died.” “His mother? His mother is dead?” asked the Don, in a low tone, and without raising his eyes from the floor. “Yes. They say she was a lovely woman.” “And she is dead, you say—your friend’s mother?” he repeated, in a mechanical sort of way; and, resting his head upon his hand, he fixed his eyes upon the window with a look so grim that I paused in my narrative. “Yes,” I presently resumed, “she—Charley’s mother; that is—” “I beg pardon,” said he, abruptly turning to me, and, as the Latin hath it, serening his face with an effort,—“please go on.”