"Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!" "Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. All other things were without weight or consequence before the fact that this poor young man would have to depend upon her for his life. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. In all these weeks she had not once knelt to pray.
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