" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. She took up a book and threw it down again. She gloried in it: he needed her. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. Besides, he was a Yale man. "That I can't say. She would just have to show up and hope for the best.
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