" CHAPTER XIII. I followed, taking up hunting so that way I could track you, to make sure you would become well again. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. As time went on, she began to think Martha had been mistaken. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Martha begged. ” “I don’t want to,” said Manning.
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