"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us. Selfishness. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. For all that, it is folly. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again.
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