"There's an old proverb," continued Wood, rising and walking towards the fire, "which says,—'Put another man's child in your bosom, and he'll creep out at your elbow. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. Besides," added he, opening the shawl in which the infant was wrapped, and throwing the light of the candle full upon its sickly, but placid features, "it's sinful to repine while you've a child like this to comfort you. I am tired, and I want to be alone. You are a detective?" "Yes. ‘Silence,’ hissed a voice in French. And yet, as she rose slowly to her feet and stood looking at him with outstretched hands, a strange mixture of expressions shining in her wonderful eyes, he realized in some measure the strength of her determination, felt the utter impotence of anything which he could say to her. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. “Actually, I am, it is terribly stupid.
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