But this chap is good wine yet. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness. . The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. They want some fun, and there isn't any. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. ’ His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. .
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