Hold your hand for a moment. “I’m thirsty. The next minute, I contrived, without either of 'em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe.
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