" "Pray, let me have a pinch!" said Edgeworth Bess, with a captivating glance. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. " "It ought to be; it cost enough to get it here," said the Scot, ruefully. "Dying, Sir Rowland. I shall charge you five per cent. ‘So it was.
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