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It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Darrell, however, rose again instantly; and though mortally wounded, made a desperate effort to regain the boat. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Sindlesham, but do you tell me this inheritance that Melusine has fought so hard to recover is completely wasted?’ The old lady gave him a sharp look. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner. But the girl stood outside the circle of Ah Cum's knowledge—rather profound—of human impulses. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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