"Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. ” She slipped it on her finger, and added, in a voice she tried to make matter-of-fact: “It was given to me last week. “Will he die?” she asked. " "I should like to satisfy myself on that score," rejoined Wild, drily. Thank you for the books. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Out of the beaten track, far from the trails of men! He relaxed. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. .
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