They were sitting alone, Lucy. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. " "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly.
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