’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. “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. ‘But that is easy. “Unless you have an appointment, which you haven’t,” he said, “you’ll only waste your time here. " "Norris!" gasped Lady Trafford, trembling violently.
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