" "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. . Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. Take my child to—it is—oh God!—I am sinking—take it—take it!" "Where?" shouted Wood. He was no longer in military uniform, and it was evident from his suit of brown brocade that he had been disturbed while preparing for an evening engagement.
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