‘It is nothing at all of the kind. . Very soon she would be able to forget it. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. "I've got to see him; but I'll be reasonable. 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.
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