As she thinks of her mother o'er and o'er,
Keeping lone watch with one lying dead,
In that fearful stillness, behind the door;.

And, raising her trembling heart to Heaven,
She asks of Him, who careth for birds,
That help and strength may to her be given,
And not in air die her earnest words.

She reaches the end of the lonely gloom,
She scarcely knows if in fear or joy,
She passes on to a snug warm room
And stands in the presence of Victor Roy.

With tremulous efforts the timid girl
Strives to utter her story of grief,
all things grow of a dizzy whirl
As she shivering stands like an aspen leaf.

He looks at the eyes so earnest and sad,
He hears the voice that is sweet and mild,
He sees a figure scantily clad,
And only mutters, "Why, that is the child."

He looks at the snowflakes melting fast
From the faded hood and the mantle fold,
While his thoughts go dreamily into the past,
And now he is young and now he is old.

He has taken the jewel in his hand,