He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. "How very like it is!" "Not so strange, surely," laughed Thames, "that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended. I hardly see you anymore. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. Courtlaw stood up. By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. The two great hotels on their right were still ablaze with lights. Fortescue?” “At your service. “Leave them!” He yelled. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment.
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