Lucia had never been so happy, so content. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. But he afterwards acted upon the suggestion. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it. ” Her aunt answered in a low voice: “I was engaged to him, dear, for seven years, and then he died.
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