The
crabbed, trembling characters were even more eloquent than the words
with which the letter closed.
'I have lost my boy, and now my husband is gone, and I am a lonely
woman. I have many servants, and some friends, but none near to me, none
so near and dear as my dead son's wife. My days are not to be many. Come
to me, my daughter; I want you and Lewis's child.'
'Must I go?' she asked with white lips.
'Do you know her well?' I asked.
'I only saw her once or twice,' she answered; 'but she has been very
good to me.'
'She can hardly need you. She has friends. And surely you are needed
here.'
She looked at me eagerly.
'Do you think so?' she said.
'Ask any man in the camp--Shaw, Nixon, young Winton, Geordie. Ask
Craig,' I replied.
'Yes, he will tell me,' she said.
Even as she spoke Craig came up the steps. I passed into my studio and
went on with my work, for my days at Black Rock were getting few, and
many sketches remained to be filled in.
Through my open door I saw Mrs. Mavor lay her letters before Mr.
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