"I can, and will. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. ‘Grace à dieu, he breathes still. I wouldn't accept my life from him. “I think we have,” he answered, gravely, and took her in his arms, and smoothed her hair from her forehead, and very tenderly kissed her lips. And, if I can render you any service, you may command me. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters.
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