ing, an old woman sitting in solitude by a hearth where the turf lies grey, the fire in its heart."
Nora passed her hand across her eyes, as if to see clearer. She sank upon a bench and spoke as in a dream.
"I see her," she said. "Her hand is to her side. No tears come from her eyes—she is too old to weep—but her heart is crying always. She is ill and miserable."
The man put his hand upon her forehead. "What does she say?" he said.
"She is calling 'Nora, Nora, Nora," nothing but 'Nora.'"
"Is there no reply?"
"There is a woman far away who is trying to reach her; but she cannot—she is tied, she is held back by some one very strong and very cruel. She is crying in her heart too, but she cannot go. She dare not go. God and man have bound her, so she must not break loose and go."
"And the old woman?"
"She is growing older and more weary. She is drifting away; she is dying. She cries, "Nora, come to me. Oh, my little Nora!'"
