Let her see what she could make here. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. ‘Well said, my dear. There is no Heaven for your mother.
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