It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. Better take these sandwiches. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. “You might have given me a chance, anyway. Help! help!" But her cries were unheeded. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr.
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