“Perhaps,” she said, “it is the London climate. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. ’ ‘And where do you propose to go?’ enquired Gerald carefully. ’ A thought caught in her mind and she turned quickly to her old nurse. We hide it bravely, but so it is. "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them.
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