"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. It is what I have done. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. "Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally.
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