“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. I knew it. ’ She sighed relief to see a faint grin as he ventured to raise his head. " The spinsters nodded approvingly. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders. ’ ‘The tables, they are turned, I think,’ she returned. .
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