“The woman in the mulberry-coloured dress closes the letter. It has set in movement before her inward eye a train of images, pictures of past years.
“She sees a child of four years old running to meet her. The hair curls abundantly, the cheeks are delicately pink, the curved lips smiling. In both hands she brings treasures--bright spindle berries heaped together, crimson and orange, in her little hands.
“And the woman hears her glad voice calling: ‘Look, Ellen! corals like Di’s necklace! corals growing on trees!’
“The memory passes, and she sees another scene. The room is darkened; she is sitting by a bed. A child lies on it, tossing restlessly, and all the pretty hair has been cut off. She hears a fretful voice say repeatedly, ‘Sing, Ellen; Ellen, sing.’ And softly, over and over again until weary, she hears herself singing an old ballad to the child:--
“‘London Bridge is broken down, _Dance over my lady lea_; London Bridge is broken down _With a gay lady_.
How shall we build it up again? _Dance over my lady lea_; How shall we build it up again? _With a gay lady_.
Wood and clay will wash away, _Dance over my lady lea_; Wood and clay will wash away _With a gay lady_.
Silver and gold will be stolen away, _Dance over my lady lea_; Silver and gold will be stolen away _With a gay lady_.
Build it up with stone so strong, _Dance over my lady lea_; And then it will last for ages long _With a gay lady_.’
“Her voice, set low for the sick-room, repeats the familiar lines. She dare not cease, for immediately the eyes are wide upon her, and she hears, ‘Sing, sing.’ And so she sings on till the little form shifts less restlessly, and the breathing grows longer and more profound.
“The fire dies down and the clock ticks on in a comfortable monotony. Then she rises, and, writing on a piece of paper, she slips it under the door. And after a while there is a quiet footstep in the passage, and she knows the child’s father is reading the message, ‘_Miss Diana sleeps_.’
“Again the past is built before her. She sees the large house lighted for a ball. There are garlands over the doors, holly and ivy deck the pictures, and everywhere the soft candlelight is shed on the dark and polished floors. Music streams through the brightly-lit rooms, and a brilliant company pass to and fro in silks and jewels.