“I feel quite sure that Mrs. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. ‘You think I am like that Valade? No, a thousand times. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. Sheppard! when I see her thus, and think of all she has endured, of all she may yet have to endure, I could almost pray for her release from trouble. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. ” There was silence between them. His father and mother are gone now.
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