Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. "Why does she weep?" Ruth wanted to know. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. A young man, who had been spending the last hour walking up and down on the opposite side of the way, came quickly over to her. " "You are very kind, Sir," returned the widow, "but I require no support. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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