The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. ” She took his hand and smiled upon him. Fast and Loose 415 XXIII.
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