I am a little afraid. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. “My dear Miss Pellissier,” he said impressively, “this is an unexpected pleasure. “Are these ordinary sapphires?” she said. ” Michelle adjusted her heavy pack. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. . “After all, it’s our honeymoon.
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