I never met your sister in Paris, but I heard about her more than once. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. And I’m off to America, and if my steamer goes to the bottom of the Atlantic I’ll thank the Lord for it. ” She dropped back into a crouching attitude and began to weep. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident.
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