T. S. Arthur,
Danger; Or, Wounded in the House of a Friend
“ A deadly pallor on her face, a groan on her lips, she fell back shuddering upon the pillow from which she had risen. Mr. Voss, who was sitting at the bedside, put his arm under her, and lifting her head, drew it against his breast, holding it there tightly, but not speaking. He had no comfort to give, no assuring word to offer. Not a ray of light had yet come in through the veil of mystery that hung so darkly over the fate of their absent boy. ”
