Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. Farewell. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. “The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. Her usual dignified reserve had availed her nothing. I said I’d do anything. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly. 1.
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