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"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. Lucy's ears were singing. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. —You've your answer, Blueskin," he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; "it's useless to urge the matter further. And will you look! His name neatly cut out from each title page. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. ” She stopped abruptly, afraid that Ramage might be able to infer Capes from the things she had said, and indeed his face was very eager. She awoke and found herself home amid a pile of three bodies, one of which she recognized as a former denizen of the household. ’ She fairly pushed at Gerald, who grinned and gave in, moving back to the still open door. \" She cooed into his ear, stroking his chest hair. But woe to those who disregard them! Of course, basically it is all wrong; and sometimes God must laugh at our ideas of rectitude.

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