She threw her arms around Rollo's neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. . “There are some people,” he said at last, “who seem fated to carry on their shoulders the burdens of other people.
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