But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow. Jonathan had not deceived him. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Now you can understand why I have been obliged to——” “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Courtlaw interrupted. Sheppard's conduct, from my own personal knowledge, has been unexceptionable for the last twelve years. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. Something in his tone pinched her heart. "Tomorrow I shall have a visitor.
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