Let us stand together, Marion; that is best." But her tears were dropping on his shoulder, as her forehead rested on her hand.

He knew now that, whatever Frank's wife was, she would not have an absolute enemy here; for when Marion cried her heart was soft.
She was clay in the hands of the potter whom we call Mercy--more often a stranger to the hearts of women than of men.

At the other side of the room also the father and mother, tearless now, watched these two; and the mother saw her duty better and with less rebelliousness.

She had felt it from the first, but she could not bring her mind to do it.
They held each other's hands in silence.

Presently General Armour said: "Richard, your mother and I will go to Liverpool to meet Frank's wife." Marion shuddered a little, and her hands closed on Richard's shoulder, but she said nothing..