“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. If you met her you would, I am certain, think her as fine as I do. I know. His father and mother are gone now. " And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it. “Hullo!” Courtlaw, haggard, his deep-set eyes more brilliant than ever, took Anna’s hand into his, and breathed a little close drawn sigh of content. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. “I wonder if they will seem altered,” she remarked for the third time.
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