"Souls," she answered, drily. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. Not a word was uttered for some time, nor any sound heard except the stilled sobs of the unfortunate mother. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. At last—I told a story. . ” The conversation hung for a moment.