” “That’s horrible!” He gasped. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. I came to see you on my own account. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. She did not therefore reveal to him that he had guaged her with accuracy. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. “Let’s go home. I could be presented as Meysey Hill. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. ” She said with a tone of defiance.
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