Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the churchyard. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. “My child, I do not wish. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. I want you to turn me. Living’s just material. Out of sight of that tell-tale window, the two officers darted across the grounds, speedily gaining the lee of the mansion walls. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. You are not a tourist seeking adventure.
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