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. " "Anything, my dear," replied Wood, "What is it?" "Bury us together in one grave in Willesden churchyard. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident.
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