He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. "I cannot part with him," replied the widow, bursting into tears; "indeed, indeed, I cannot. C. Yon must be mine to-night. Sheppard. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. "If things had gone smoothly," he thought, "I should have cursed the fellow's stupidity.
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