Anna watched her with curious eyes. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. ” He stood still, looking at her. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered.
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