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"Dead!" shrieked Mrs. Dallas, all her superstition roused by the word. "Come away from that man, Isabella." "Molly," he said, standing off and looking at me with shining eyes, "you are one lovely dream. Your cheeks are peaches under cream, your eyes are blue forget-me-nots, and your mouth a red blossom. Come on before I lose my head looking at you." I didn't know whether I liked that or not, and turned down the light quickly myself and went to the gate hurriedly. Tom laughed and behaved himself. "Mrs. Dallas dressed! Dido missing!" said the major. "Thank you, David, you have told me all I want to know," and with a nod Major Jen set off for the second time to The Wigwam..

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"Yes, major," said he at length. "You shall learn my reason--at the trial." "I could not get Isabella further than the door of your house," exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, who was in deep mourning, whether for Maurice or David, or for the loss of Dido, it was impossible to say. So far the reader may wonder at the constituent elements of this story. African witchcraft, mysterious strangers, and barbaric women seem to be out of place when set in the sober framework of an English provincial town. But romance is not dependent upon landscape or on surroundings for its occurrence: it is to be found everywhere, and very often in the most unlikely places. Here, for instance, by some trick of Fate, certain people had come together, certain passions had been aroused, and now that the drama had been set in motion, it seemed likely that it would play itself out to a tragical conclusion. Tragical, certainly; for herein the elements of comedy seem to be wanting. But then Fate is so pessimistic. I was tempted to say, "Why not my heart?" I was glad she didn't know how good that heart did feel under my blouse when the boy brought that basket of fish from Judge Wade's fishing expedition Saturday. I have firmly determined not to blush any more at the thought of that gorgeous man—at least outwardly..