Again through the flower-scented, silent room the sibilant voice stole
its way. "_Father._"
"Who is speaking?"
"_Margaret._"
"Margaret? What Margaret?"
"_Your 'rascal' Peggy._"
Bartol certainly started at this reply, which conveyed an expression of
mirth, but his questions continued formal.
"What is your will with me?"
"_Mamma is here--and Walter._"
"Can they speak?"
"_They will try._"
Again silence fell upon the room--a silence so profound that every
insect's stir was a rude interruption. At length another whisper,
clearer, louder, made itself heard: "_Alexander, be happy. I live._"
"Who are you?"
"_Your wife._"
"You say so. Can you prove your identity?"