" "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. But to-day he did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. "That's for Mrs. But I'm not worrying about that. ‘He prayeth best who loveth best—all things both great and small. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. Wood, was examined. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. She answered weakly, “I’m fine, John.
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