" The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. ” “Such independence,” he answered quickly, “is a vice. ” He said. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. Then for a time she sat very still. At once there came an answering knock. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. ‘Ah, Madame Joan.
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