A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. " "You'd better," replied Quilt. She opened it and imbibed. He unhooked it from the front clasp. “But that’s not all. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. What of madame, his wife?’ ‘You know more of her than me,’ the girl said with a look of scorn. She has married some one he could not approve of, and gone right away. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end.
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