A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. Thames did not try to cheer her. Which, let me assure you, villain, will not be so far away. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. " "My coat, please. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried.
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