Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. The hand that had been clenched lay open, relaxed; and upon the palm he saw her mother's locket. He found himself growing hoarse yelling over the music, but it also situated him to lean towards her to put his hand on her ear to aid her hearing. He had come to Anna’s rooms from a dinner party, and he was in evening dress. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways.
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