The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. Very quietly, he added, “Oh Lucia, I’m sorry. But it is not your name. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart.
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