Burn your palette and your easel. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. . He was the true optimist; and that he should proceed, serenely unconscious of reefs and storms, she accepted the double buffets. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. "What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford. Mother! do you know what you do? Would you sell yourself to this fiend?" "I would sell myself, body and soul, to save you," rejoined his mother, bursting from his grasp. The buboes broke and God took Lucia's mother. "Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it.
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