For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. She realized that with a pang of disgust and horror. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. She could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,—"Your son has committed a robbery—here—in these holy walls—he is mine—mine for ever!" She uttered a loud scream, and fainted. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts.
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