ABSTRACT
In the first days of Dunstane’s illness Priscilla was like a creature in a cage. She dared not give voice to her trouble. She scarcely dared show her pity and sympathy for him, or dwell on the trouble at all. Suppose she could not give that birthright of a merry heart. The thought was torture to her. She darted from side to side of the bars the trouble had put round her.
