Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. She hung for a moment, and then went on, conclusively, “Until we have the vote that is how things WILL be.
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