The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Nor was this impression removed as he stole a glance at Mrs. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. He drew a little sigh of relief. There is a new life, different from the old life of dependence, possible.
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