" "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. . " Thames Darrell was, indeed, a youth of whom a person of far greater worldly consequence than the worthy carpenter might have been justly proud. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. .
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