‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly. Why didn’t he die?” Anna sprang to her feet and walked restlessly up and down the room. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. She would wake in the night to repeat her bitter cry: “Oh, why did I burn those notes?” It added greatly to the annoyance of the situation that she had twice seen Ramage in the Avenue since her return to the shelter of her father’s roof. ” “And now—I am to lose you.
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