” She paused. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. “Did you tell him?” Capes smiled faintly. “Oh Christ! How old were you?” “Just—well, I was young. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled.
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