"I fear we're too late," he whispered to Thames. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. 1. ’ Saling coughed. I'll bet you haven't given her a bucket of paint in three years. ” “Six pounds. "Hush!" she said. She stood up before him, smiling faintly. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions.
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