Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. At length, the body was brought towards him. In the beginning it was a dictionary. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. Another picture slid across her vision. " "And all the time you loved her?"—appalled. "One motive alone shall induce me to go on with you," said Jack. Parbleu, but must she do this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture.
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