Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. The psychic vibration of him thickened the air of the room as if he were already inside. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. So absorbed was she by her passionate supplications that she was insensible to anything passing around her, until she felt a touch upon her shoulder, and heard a well-known voice breathe in her ear—"Mother!" She started at the sound as if an apparition had called her, screamed, and fell into her son's outstretched arms. Their talk drifted to the beauty of music, and they took that up again at tea-time.
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