She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. And yet—I love you. "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. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. That person advanced towards him. At luncheon, on the third day, a thick-set man with a blue jaw smiled across his table at her.
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