Perhaps you may be soon going away from home again, and we may not meet any more.

I shall never, never forget that you were kind to him when he wanted a friend, and that you have the greatest claim of any one on earth to be gratefully remembered in my thoughts as long as I live." The inexpressible tenderness of her voice, trembling a little all the while she spoke, the pale beauty of her face, the artless candor in her sad, quiet eyes, so affected me that I could not trust myself to answer her at first except by gesture.

Before I recovered my voice she had given me her hand once more and had left me.
I never saw her again.

The chances and changes of life kept us apart.
When I last heard of her, years and years ago, she was faithful to the memory of the dead, and was Ada Elmslie still for Alfred Monkton's sake.
THE FIFTH DAY.
STILL cloudy, but no rain to keep our young lady indoors.

The paper, as usual, without interest to _me_.
To-day Owen actually vanquished his difficulties and finished his story.
I numbered it Eight, and threw the corresponding number (as I had done the day before in Morgan's case) into the china bowl.
Although I could discover no direct evidence against her, I strongly suspected The Queen of Hearts of tampering with the lots on the fifth evening, to irritate Morgan by making it his turn to read again, after the shortest possible interval of repose.