" "So she may," returned Jack, brightening up; "it's a good idea. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. She sensed that he was looking for her. “As my lady wills. She grew perhaps a shade paler, and she glanced out into the street, where her four-wheeler cab, laden with luggage, was still waiting. You are right. It was red and chapped. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it.
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