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"Plague on't!" added he: "I never meant to take your babby from you. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. Ha! ha! What have I left but despair and madness? Promise me one thing, Mr. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Before midnight, I'll answer for it, it shall be done. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence. You are wedged in amongst a crowd, perhaps in the promenade, you lean over the back, you are almost out of sight. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. .
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