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The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. Her thought spoke aloud. 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. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. And some were adorned with engravings that struck her as being more vulgar and undesirable than anything she had ever seen in her life. Wood. He came down the shop looking for her quite obviously, and took up a position on the other side against a mirror in which he was able to regard her steadfastly. She was by his side. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. “Those things are not for me just at present. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare.
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