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" The miniature was a
picture of Leo's Greek mother--a lovely, dark-eyed creature. On the back
of it was written, in poor Vincey's handwriting, "My beloved wife."
"That is all," I said.
"Very well," answered Leo, putting down the miniature, at which he
had been gazing affectionately; "and now let us read the letter," and
without further ado he broke the seal, and read aloud as follows:--
"My Son Leo,--When you open this, if you ever live to do so, you will
have attained to manhood, and I shall have been long enough dead to
be absolutely forgotten by nearly all who knew me. Yet in reading it
remember that I have been, and for anything you know may still be, and
that in it, through this link of pen and paper, I stretch out my hand
to you across the gulf of death, and my voice speaks to you from the
silence of the grave. Though I am dead, and no memory of me remains
in your mind, yet am I with you in this hour that you read. Since your
birth to this day I have scarcely seen your face.


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