So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. " "This comes of fine feelings!" muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. He seemed to avoid meeting Anna’s eyes as much as possible. To-morrow I am going to Paris. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions.
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