"It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. As silent as she had remained about who had brought her home last night. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. Ennison stood by her side. But leave me here in my home, child, I will disintegrate if I am exposed. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "Will he consent, to be searched?" inquired Jonathan. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. “I do.
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