"You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. Besides ——” She stopped short. Mike answered the door while still toweling his hands dry. Prudence shook her head. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. ” “I should have his head on a platter!” Sebastian exclaimed dramatically. Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. It was ended.
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