“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. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. An enormous Hand that rose up swiftly, blotting out the sky. ’ ‘As we see. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me. "I cannot do it. "No, Sir, it's quite possible—more than possible. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. ” “What do you mean—by too late?” he demanded. “Beasts!” But Miss Miniver took no notice of his admission.
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