‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. His brain reeled. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. While he was meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. ” “No, mine.
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