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CHAPTER X. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. I don’t idealize you. Then Courtlaw looked across at her with a white puzzled face. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. “I don’t think I CAN do that,” she said. .
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