The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. I want you to be clear what you’re really and truly up to, anyhow. Guns were impossible. The period of repression was over. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. You knew me in Paris. "Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. ‘I’ll make you an offer.
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