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--Woe be to the man by whom the scandal cometh! said Mrs Riordan. _It would be better for him that a millstone were tied about his neck and that he were cast into the depths of the sea rather than that he should scandalise one of these, my least little ones._ That is the language of the Holy Ghost.
She remembered their last evening at Florence--the packing, the candle, the shadow of Miss Bartlett's toque on the door.
Every one was sorry for her and pointed her out, saying, "See! the poor old soul has no one to help her!"
--I'm a believer in universal brotherhood, said Temple, glancing about him out of his dark oval eyes.
