"He stands before you," rejoined her son. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. Apart from everything else, this meeting of ours is a breach of a good rule. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. Another long interval elapsed. The thing is, Miss Charvill —’ ‘He told you my name?’ cut in Melusine, surprised. “Both.
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