"Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. " The Wastrel advanced. "He hears me not! he's gone!" she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; "something tells me I shall never see him again!" When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. The scent of cloying pine dust filled the air as floodlights shone eerily through the jungle gym of new wood.
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