The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. "Well, like or not, I'm greatly pleased with it, and must beg it from you as a memorial——" "Of what?" she interrupted, startled by his change of manner. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. Nothing could occupy her attention long today, unless it concerned her situation. She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes.
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