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Life is but short—,

Near a fortnight had elapsed without producing any appearance of hostility from the marquis, when one night, long after the hour of repose, Julia was awakened by the bell of the monastery. She knew it was not the hour customary for prayer, and she listened to the sounds, which rolled through the deep silence of the fabric, with strong surprise and terror. Presently she heard the doors of several cells creak on their hinges, and the sound of quick footsteps in the passages—and through the crevices of her door she distinguished passing lights. The whispering noise of steps increased, and every person of the monastery seemed to have awakened. Her terror heightened; it occurred to her that the marquis had surrounded the abbey with his people, in the design of forcing her from her retreat; and she arose in haste, with an intention of going to the chamber of Madame de Menon, when she heard a gentle tap at the door. Her enquiry of who was there, was answered in the voice of madame, and her fears were quickly dissipated, for she learned the bell was a summons to attend a dying nun, who was going to the high altar, there to receive extreme unction.,

Oh, pshaw! It was raining. Johnny Blossom turned a scowling face toward the window. Just what one might expect—to have it rain the very first day of vacation! It always did, always. Funny kind of rain, anyhow—coming down in a regular slant. Perfectly horrid. He had planned to do so much today—be “boatman,” for instance.,

The first down rush was glorious. Not until he started to climb up the other incline of the cable did Bob give any thought to the speed he was making. There was a slight slackening in the rush through the air, but so quickly was the whole journey over that Bob’s first impression was the one that he slipped off the bucket with when it touched ground at the foot of the west tower.

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Cornelia ceased, and Julia, who had listened to the narrative in deep attention, at once admired, loved, and pitied her. As the sister of Hippolitus, her heart expanded towards her, and it was now inviolably attached by the fine ties of sympathetic sorrow. Similarity of sentiment and suffering united them in the firmest bonds of friendship; and thus, from reciprocation of thought and feeling, flowed a pure and sweet consolation.,

“Yes,” said the other. “But it would mean tunneling through a mountain to get the water out after the dam was built. That is nothing for the Service if only we could get a road down into the canyon. Need it to get machinery and materials down to the dam site. Nobody’s ever gone through the canyon alive, so no one knows whether a road is practical or not. Lots have started. I’ve sort of a hankering to try it.”,

“Not so’s you could notice it!” exclaimed Bob indignantly. “I’ve made up my mind but it’s to stay right here!”,

Low whisp'ring echoes steal along the glades