“MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. Wood," said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, "the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. Ruth's eyes were wet, but she saw light everywhere: the room was filled with celestial aura. The priceless things were gathered, the belongings packed. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. “I think,” she said, “that I will tell you everything.
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