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’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. It wailed at Lucy, chubby arms reaching towards her, pleading. "At length, my vengeance is complete. “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. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered.
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