I've destroyed my only chance. "'Tis a cruel thing you've done, lad. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. ‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. The truth at once flashed across his mind. Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed.
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