CHAPTER XII. " "The ways of Providence are inscrutable," observed Wood. " "A young fellow who thinks he's in love, when he has only been reading too much. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. You did not find him, but did you find his pistol? In the room beyond the bookroom there—a big room where a table had fallen. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. "'A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it.
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