From this perturbed state he was roused by thoughts of his mother, and fancying he heard her gentle voice urging him on to fresh exertion, he started up. Turning now, and running down the terrace. ’ ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think so,’ he said ruefully. 9. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. Husbands and wives, young lovers, and mothers with strollers thronged in the streets, all savoring the fine cool weather. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage.
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