Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs. Let me take the satchel, sir. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. Come and see him, Lucia. "Ye-ah," said O'Higgins, jovially. ‘She ought to be. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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