He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. "Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. Earles?” he inquired. ‘Sir?’ enquired the lad.
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