In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille. These bloods will pay well for his capture; if not, he'll pay well to get out of their hands; so I'm safe either way—ha! ha! Blueskin," he added aloud, and motioning that worthy, "follow me. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Anna, why will you persist in this single-handed combat with life?” “Don’t!” she cried. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON.
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