But there was no sign from her. “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. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. At last—I told a story. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. She had been carrying them, he assumed, but then again the school had some particularly talented kids among the usual ruffians. Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,—for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,—he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return,—to all which Black Mary readily agreed,—he departed with a heart lightened of half its load.
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