Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. Mr. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. She found presently she was out of the dock and confronted with the alternative of being bound over in one surety for the sum of forty pounds— whatever that might mean or a month’s imprisonment. They stopped talking, except to each other. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. Be silent, I say, if you value his safety. ‘That will be a matter for her future husband to decide. ” “I want you to turn me. Even Blueskin looked on with anxiety.
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