after seeing the waiter disappear, and placing certain papers before him, began speaking, David sat dazedly listening.
What was it all—what was it? The glasses seemed to quiver and shake, throwing dancing flecks of light; and the wine in them—why did it make him think of blood? Were they dead then—all three—his two cousins and his brother—dead? Shot! Killed in a bloody and useless war! He was confounded, and bowing his head in his hands sat thus—his elbows on his knees—waiting, hearing, but not comprehending.
He could think only of his mother. He saw her face, aged and grief-stricken. He knew how she loved the boy she had lost, above all, and now she must turn to himself. He sat thus while the lawyer read a lengthy document, and at the end personally addressed him. Then he lifted his head.
"What is this? My uncle? My uncle gone, too? Do you mean dead? My uncle dead, and I—I his heir?"
The lawyer replied formally, "You are now the head of a most ancient and honorable house. You will have the dignity of the old name to maintain, and are called upon to return to your fatherland and occupy the home of your ancestors." He took up one of the papers and adjusted his monocle.
For a time David did not speak. At last he rose and, with head erect, extended his hand to the lawyer. "I thank you, sir, for your trouble,—but now, Doctor, shall we return to your house? I must take a little time to adjust my mind to these terrible