This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. He grunted, and his grip gave. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. No work that offered was at all of the quality she had vaguely postulated for herself. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people.
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