"To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII. . . He'll settle it bravely. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. “Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress.
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