“Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him.
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