She approached a soft-looking bespectacled girl she had seen once in the halls and noticed for her haunted look. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. "Oh!" she gasped. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. All at once they came to the top, the faded blue sky overhead, and whichever way he looked, the horizon, the great rocking circle which hemmed them in. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. I cannot have my wife distressed or worried.
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