A tall figure, so wrapped and veiled that nothing but the womanly outline could be discerned, entered, supported by John Hewett.
“Is there a light in the other room, Amy?” John inquired in a thick voice.
“Yes, father.”
He led the muffled form into the chamber where Amy and Annie slept. The door closed, and for several minutes the three children stood regarding each other, alarmed, mute. Then their father joined them. He looked about in an absent way, slowly drew off his overcoat, and when Amy offered to take it, bent and kissed her cheek. The girl was startled to hear him sob and to see tears starting from his eyes. Turning suddenly away, he stood before the fire and made a pretence of warming himself; but his sobs overmastered him. He leaned his arms on the mantelpiece.
“Shall I pour out the tea, father?” Amy ventured to ask, when there was again perfect silence.
