the one to whom I am going; nor do they know
that I have a child. My husband’s people know,
but do not care. If Joan ever came in their
way they would only spurn her.”
“I have no more to say, except to plead again
for your pity for my little one.”
“I am yours, &c., M. BROOKE.”
“Georgie, what a most extraordinary and incomprehensible letter!” exclaimed Dulcibel with much emphasis.
George waited a moment, then said—“Yes.”
“Who can she be?”