"Yes; it is not much. It has been such a simple life, Norman, half made up of shadows. First, I can remember being a child in some far off woodland house. I am sure it was in the woods; for I remember the nuts growing on the trees, the squirrels, and the brown hares. I remember great masses of green foliage, a running brook, and the music of wild birds. I remember small latticed windows against which the ivy tapped. My father used to come in with his gun slung across his shoulders--he was a very handsome man, Norman, but not kind to either my mother or me. My mother was then, as she is now, patient, kind, gentle, long-suffering. I have never heard her complain. She loved me with an absorbing love. I was her only comfort. I did my best to deserve her affection. I loved her too. I cannot remember that she ever spoke one unkind word to me, and I can call to mind a thousand instances of indulgence and kindness. I knew that she deprived herself of almost everything to give it to me. I have seen her eat dry bread patiently, while for me and my father there was always some little dainty. The remembrance of the happiness of my early life begins and ends with my mother. My memories of her are all pleasant." She continued as though recalling her thoughts with difficulty. "I can remember some one else. I do not know who or what he was, except that he was, I think, a doctor. He used to see me, and used to amuse me. Then there came a dark day. I cannot tell what happened, but after that day I never saw my friend again." He was looking at her with wondering eyes. "And you remember no more than that about him, Madaline?"