What shall I do?
what shall I do ?" It was Mary Bartley's first grief.

She thought all chance of happiness was gone forever, and she wept bitterly for Walter and herself.
Bartley was not unmoved, but he could not change his nature.

The sum he had obtained by a crime was dearer to him than all his more honest gains.
He was kind on the surface, but hard as marble.
"Go to your room, my child," said he, "and try and compose yourself.

I am not angry with you.

I ought to have watched you.