"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. " "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. ‘Doesn’t she, Gerald?’ Gerald held up his hands. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. Abruptly she got out of bed, smoothed her sheet and straightened her pillow and lay down, and fell almost instantly asleep. .
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