cord that linked their beating hearts was unbroken, though it sang like
a bowstring in the gusty horror that swept between, and stretched to
attenuation as the elder spirit sank, groaning, into the abyss of its
own wickedness. Hot tears gushed from her eyes, her little throat was
swollen with the choking sobs, and her narrow, rag-covered chest heaved
with tumultuous agony. But after he was taken away, when the iron door
which to her was, indeed, the door of the tomb, had closed between them
forever, she became quickly calm, and her face soon wore an air of
quiet resignation.

As she was about leaving the court-room she stooped and picked up a
weather-stained guitar. I guessed her vocation, and was resolved to
speak to her.

'What is your name, little one?'

'Angela, sir.' It was a sad voice, but very sweet.

'And do you play on this for a living?'

'I play and sing also, sir.'

The court had been dismissed, and the crowd were confusedly
dispersing.

'I say, little gal, can't you give us a song 'afore you go?' said an
inconsiderate policeman, meaning to be good-natured.

'I shall not sing to-day, sir!' said the little girl, decisively; and
then, with a dignity of grief which sat well upon her, despite her