“You were booked of course. " He paused, and not without malice. "There he is!" "I fear not," said her father, with a doubtful shake of the head. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. But he has never been near her—never. " "Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they were faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong.
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