You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. Only I am not an acquaintance at all. There had been fusses and scenes dimly apprehended through half-open doors. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. \" Lucy said. She held out the foil. “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.
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