” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. He started a dozen stories, but they all ended in the waste-basket. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. An hour later the doctor arrived; and after a thorough examination, he looked doubtful. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily.
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