” “I thought I was old enough,” she gasped, between laughter and crying. . Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. "You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. How could she tell him of the evil that drew her and drew her, as a needle to the magnet?—the fascinating evil that even now, escaped as it was, went on distilling its poison in her mind? "Yes, yes!" said the doctor. ” “Again,” he said, “I am going to be impertinent. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard.
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