“MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. All of a sudden, there was movement behind him. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. I’ve loved her for two years, I love her now. "Is your person in danger?" "Not from my creditors," replied Wood, significantly. “It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things.
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