‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. " "Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering. It simply doesn’t count. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. “You have them both,” Anna answered. ’ ‘Then you shall no longer do so. .
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