Wood having disposed of the brandy, and pronounced himself much better, hurried close to the fire-side, and informed his friend in a few words of the inhospitable treatment he had experienced from the gentlemen of the Mint; whereupon Mr. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. He went over her features one by one in his mind. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner.
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