"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. "Yes. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. “Is everything okay?” His mother touched his 251 shoulder gently, standing up. \" She sat down on a nearby bench. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. He embraced her like her father once had.
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