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” “You remembered. " "Very. ” “That sounds more promising,” Lady Lescelles declared. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. "Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone.
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