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    "Sorry, babe," Angler broke in with a wave of dismissal. "I'm dated up for two months in advance. Waiter! I'm here, not there!" And he went charging off.

    For a minute Mrs. Ashurst made her no reply. Her thoughts were far away. She could scarcely realise the scene passing round her, though she had pictured it to herself a hundred times in a hundred different phases. Years ago--how many years ago it seemed!--she was delicate and fragile, and thought she should die before her husband, and she would lie awake for hours in the night, rehearsing her own death-bed, and thinking how she should tell James not to grieve after her, but to marry again, anybody except that Eleanor Shaw, the organist's daughter, and she should be sorry to think of that flighty minx going through the linen and china after she was gone. And now the time had really come, and he was going to be taken from her; he, her James, with his big brown eyes and long silky hair, and strong lithe figure, as she first remembered him--going to be taken from her now, and leave her an old woman, poor and lone and forlorn--and Mrs. Ashurst tried to stop the tears which rolled down her face, and to reply to her daughter's strange remark.


    He intended to make the girl his wife. She might not be accomplished or clever; her education must necessarily have been limited, reared, as she had been, so apart from the world. Yet if she were ignorant in the accepted sense of the word, she must also be innocent, guileless, unacquainted with evil--white and unsullied in thought and experience. He had no desire for an intellectual wife; in his opinion the more women knew the more objectionable they became.

    No answer from Peter.

    Mrs. Anthony in the same letter to Draper writes: “Late in December, 1797, early on a cold morning, Captain Dunn, accompanied by Thomas Smith, started on horseback for Knob Lick, carrying out corn meal and intending to bring back salt. As they were coming near the ford on Canoe Creek, three miles below Henderson, Captain Dunn remarked that many a time, in former years, he dreaded the crossing of that creek on account of the Masons, as it was so well fitted to waylay the unwary, but now that the Masons had gone so far below [to Cave-in-Rock] he no longer apprehended danger from them. The words were scarcely uttered—they were about midway the small stream—when the crack of a rifle told too plainly that villainy yet lurked there. Captain Dunn fell from his horse into the partly frozen stream. Thomas Smith got but a glimpse of the person who did the deed; he could not, in the confusion of the moment, define his features. The wretch darted off and Smith conveyed Dunn home, where he died in a few hours. When asked if he knew the person who shot him he answered that ‘it was that bad man.’ This allusion was probably to Henry Havard, a young man who was a friend and supposed accomplice of the Masons.”


    scrutiny with perfect composure. Like all truly beautiful women, she seemed superbly unconscious of it, and, as she swept with majestic grace toward the upper part of the room, Macfarren glowed with pride at presenting so much dignity and loveliness to an admiring world. When they reached Mrs. Van Tromp's table, that lady gave unmistakable signs of a willingness to leave her own table for the privilege of dining with Lady Marian and Macfarren; but Macfarren, albeit the most courteous of men, had a fund of polite resolution that had more than once brought Mrs. Van Tromp and other grand dames to bay. He meant to have a tête-à-tête with Marian: so, with consummate tact, he managed to leave Mrs. Van Tromp in the lurch and to take his seat with Marian at a table at the very top of the room. He had a design in this which quickly bore fruit. Marian remarked with pleasure that the top of the room was given her without dissent. There was no one at the table except themselves.





    "Open the way to the surface," he ordered. "As soon as possible, take both of them to where we can work."



    It was thin I spoke up, for I’d taken the paper frum the recipshun hall the day Miss Claire faynted, intinding to burn the dummed thing. I now guv it to Mr. Harry. He toorned it over contemshusly. Thin he guv the paper a long scrootiny. Finally he looked up and fixed his eyes on Miss Claire. His voyce is very cam and quiet.


    He lit a cigarette, and his movements were slow and clumsy.



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