After debating with himself for some time whether he should employ an assistant, or make the attempt alone, his love of gain overcame his fears, and he decided upon the latter plan. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. There was—a service. Nevertheless, she could not prevent a rising excitement as the dawn of the new life drew near to her—a thrilling of the nerves, a secret and delicious exaltation above the common circumstances of existence. This service rendered, without waiting for any farther order, she withdrew. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table.
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