As evening closed in, she brought her some tea. Caroline, opening her eyes from a moment's slumber, viewed her nurse with an unrecognizing glance.
"I smelt the honeysuckles in the glen this summer morning," she said, "as I stood at the counting-house window."
Strange words like these from pallid lips pierce a loving listener's heart more poignantly than steel. They sound romantic, perhaps, in books; in real life they are harrowing.
"My darling, do you know me?" said Mrs. Pryor.

As evening closed in, Mrs. Pryor brought her patient some tea. Caroline, opening her eyes from a moment's slumber, viewed her nurse with an unrecognizing glance.
"I smelt the honeysuckles this summer morning," she said, "as I stood at the counting-house window."
Strange words like these pierce a loving listener's heart more poignantly than steel. They sound romantic, perhaps, in books; in real life they are harrowing.
"My darling, do you know me?" said Mrs. Pryor.
