"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. I’m sorry Lucy. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again.
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