She wondered who the girl might belong to as she patted dirt over the shallow grave. She stopped abruptly, and looked in a flower-shop window. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. " "There's some one in the garden at this moment," cried Jack; "I saw a face at the window. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. . “Our ways happened to lie together.
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