S. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. “Please forgive me, Lucy. "These writer chaps are queer birds. ” His voice sounded muffled and heavy, as if he had gone to bed. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live. “I don’t care what any one thinks,” said Ann Veronica. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. .
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