” “I suppose,” Anna said, “that those are reasonable deductions. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. She turned up dead after about eight weeks and it broke my heart. I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all.
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