" "To-morrow will be too late," said Sheppard, moodily. "Sir Cecil is no more. When she judged that she must be nearly back at the library, she began to feel somewhat dispirited. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. At last she was roused. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. " Neither of the parties outside bestowed much attention upon these stately and salubriouslysituated mansions; indeed, as it was now not far from ten o'clock, and quite dark, they could scarcely discern them. Innumerable little puzzles were instantly solved.
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