I—I hurt myself. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. " "By Jack Sheppard!" exclaimed the thief-taker. With delicate touch he rescued all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. ‘You don’t know him. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. Who was he?” “Intriguing.
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