She had sung it herself to Frederic the night before he left her, and as she finished the artless ballad, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
As he would never do again!
“My darling! my darling!” she cried aloud.
Then the grief-drops came in a flood.
CHAPTER V. — CLEAN HANDS.
The servant who summoned Mabel to supper brought down word that she was not feeling well, and did not wish any.
“Not well! Bless me!” exclaimed Mrs. Sutton, starting up. “Rosa, love, excuse me for three seconds, please. I must see what is the matter. I do hope there is no bad news from—” (arrested by the recollection that there were servants in the room, she substituted for the name upon her lips)—“in her letters.”
“I don't think she's much sick ma'am,” said the maid. “She is a-settin' in the window.”