Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. ” She replied, smiling awkwardly. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror.
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