At once there came an answering knock. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. In the upper hall he paused to listen. ‘Neither do I,’ he responded, frowning, ‘but for Gerald’s sake, I’ll do anything I can. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. "But you are tired!" "I want to go over the story again.
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