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"Thank you, Lady Meg," said Jen, cordially. "I congratulate you on your presence of mind, and on your courage." Yes, the word "trousseau" ought to have a definite surname after it always, and that's why my loyalty dragged poor Mr. Carter out into the light of my conscience. The thinking of him had a strange effect on me. I had laid out the dream in dark grey-blue cloth, tailored almost beyond endurance, to wear in the train going home, and had thrown the old black silk bag across the chair to give to the hotel maid, but the decision of the session between conscience and loyalty made me pack the precious blue wonder and put on once more the black rags of remembrance in a kind of panic of respect. "Then it's Tom," cried Patricia delightedly. "I wonder if he'll mind being tagged. Shall you tell him his fate soon, Ju, or let him gradually waken to it?".

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"I got this at Kumassie," explained Jen, when he had fully exhibited the gruesome mechanism of the devil-stick. "It belonged to the high priest. Whenever he or the king disliked any man who was too powerful to be openly slain, they used this wand. What excuse they made I don't know, but I suppose it had something to do with fetish worship. However, the slightest touch of this needle produces death." "Well, if I marry anyone the same thing will happen," responded Isabella, lightly; "and surely. Dido; you do not want me to remain a spinster all my life." Still, that letter was enough to upset anybody, and no wonder I ran right across my garden, through Billy's hedge-hole and over into Dr. John's surgery to tell him about it; but I ought not to have been agitated enough to let him take the letter right out of my hand and read it. "But how can I?" insisted Patricia. "They don't all go out at the rests, you know.".