She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. You shall lie upon your back; your head shall be covered; and your feet shall be bare. ” Sir John’s reply was incoherent. By a sort of instinct. Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery.
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