“You kno and stabbed you here.”

    ed too,  a  a fire guarded by a rong fender, and a lamp suspended from t over tly cooking somet t it  first sigell: it grovelled, seemingly, on all fours; it snatcrange  it ity of dark, grizzled s head and face.

    “Good-morrow, Mrs. Poole!” said Mr. Rocer. “o-day?”

    “e’re tolerable, sir, I ting to t not ‘rageous.”

    A fierce cry seemed to give to : tood tall on its .

    “Ater not stay.”

    “Only a fes, Grace: you must allos.”

    “take care take care!”

    ted  ors. I recognised  purple face,—ted features. Mrs. Poole advanced.

    “Keep out of ter, ting her aside: “she has no knife now, I suppose, and I’m on my guard.”

    “One never kno in mortal discretion to fat.”

    “e ter leave her,” whispered Mason.

    “Go to tion.

    “‘are!” cried Grace. tlemen retreated simultaneously. Mr. Rocer flung me beic sprang and grappled  viciously, and laid eeto ruggled. Sature almost equalling  besides: sest—more t ttled ic as tled ed blo  strike: le. At last ered  o a cion  t yells and t convulsive plunges. Mr. Rocer turned to tators:  te.

    “t is my  at tedly at ted  as a cer t fierce ragout. ood and Briggs, look at t mask—t bulk; t of t judgment ye judge ye s s up my prize.”

    e all er stayed a moment beo give some furto Grace Poole. tor addressed me as air.

    “You, madam,” said o —if, indeed, ill living—o Madeira.”

    “My uncle!  of him? Do you know him?”

    “Mr. Mason does