” He stared at a little eddy. Then he stood up and repeated it again. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. ” “I plead guilty, Miss Pellissier,” he answered at once. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. Presently he heard her voice. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. Wood's dwelling,—a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house.
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