How many ends had he? Well, she must cease to trouble herself for this imbecile, whom it would give her very much pleasure to shoot. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. Small blame to her. Don't ask any more questions. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. "This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Hers were less noble, yet stately. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty.
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