“Shopman. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. It was now a quarter past twelve. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary. By instinct. I am dreadfully sad. She brought the cups of cocoa back to the bedroom. They were only passers-by. She was frightfully hungry.
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