"To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Then he lifted the black cloak-like garment from the floor. He had never wanted daughters. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. There was absolute quiet. But they were too late. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me.
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