Some day I may forgive you; but not now. ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. “You are very good,” she said. ‘Me, I am Mademoiselle Charvill, the granddaughter of Monsieur Jar-vis Re-men-ham. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. ’ ‘Woof!’ uttered the sergeant, jumping back.
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