‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. 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. Still —there you are!” He paused. I am yours for the making over. “Please go and see that—nothing happens,” she pleaded. " "Here he is!" cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. ‘Is it worth it?’ he asked at last. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. His hands came up, his face broke apart. You cannot depart hence.
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