She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. He has had brain fever since, and, as you say, I am more like what you were then than you yourself are now. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. ” She stirred gently in her chair. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. . \" She whispered back.
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