How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr. He resumed his listening. It is the only way. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly insensible to the stings of conscience. “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. Suffer me to precede you. My, um, my curfew.
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