’ It was a wait of several minutes while Melusine chafed. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. He had changed her life dramatically, and she had missed him dreadfully. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. ’ A laugh escaped her. .
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