by Rebecca Ruter Springer (Author)
"It was a great joy to me that I could do so, little sister," he said gently. "Shall we go now?" and he drew me toward the window. I turned my head and looked back into the room that somehow I felt I was about to leave forever. It was in its usual good order: a cheery, pretty room. The attendant sat by the stove at the farther end, comfortably reading a newspaper; and on the bed, turned toward the window, lay a white, still form, with the shadow of a smile on the poor, worn face. My brother drew me gently, and I yielded, passing with him through the window, out on the veranda, and from thence, in some unaccountable way, down to the street. There I paused and said earnestly: "I cannot leave Will and our dear boy." "They are not here, dear, but hundreds of miles away," he answered.