The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?” “Don’t!” she cried. At last—I told a story. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. ” “And the people?” Brendon asked. \" She said. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck.
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