It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Mrs. The rest was easy. “You haven’t come here to make a lot of difficulties?” she asked. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. “It’s my fault. ’ He nodded. He waved a hand toward the sea. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away.
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