Anna rose a few minutes before the general company. When she awoke, the sun was high in Heaven. “Please forgive me, Lucy. Mr. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. But, moving through into the first of the large main rooms that led one into another around the house, with here and there an antechamber between, it was obvious that the task was not going to be easy. "Go to lunch," he ordered Ruth. " "You'd better take care of your mother's son instead," rejoined Blueskin. “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.
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