"But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. ” He said jealously. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She slid her cheek down the tweed sleeve of his coat. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her.
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