"Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. “I love some one else. Take it," he cried, lifting the babe from the bottom of the boat, and flinging it towards its unfortunate father.
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