But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. But, this sad affair disposed of, I will not rest till I have avenged my murdered parents. My motive in coming hither is to serve you, and save your life. “I’d give anything,” he remarked, “to see our little Vee happily and comfortably married. "I find I was in error. ‘No need to upset yourself. ] "So much the better. It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. Anna, you shall not go. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember.
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