He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. "We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began,—"for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,—we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. " Neither man spoke. “No,” she answered. I know nothing about the matter, but I feel convinced that you are right. " Animated by his insatiate desire of vengeance, he seemed to gain strength daily, —so much so, that within a fortnight after receiving his wound he was able to stir abroad.
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