“Is it your maid?” he asked. A distant suggestion of chalets and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they had left behind. They crossed the Park to the westward, and then turned back and walked round the circle about the Royal Botanical Gardens and then southwardly toward Waterloo. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. You act your part capitally, but it won't do. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. She was honest again. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy.
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