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"Assuredly," replied Etwald, fixing a piercing glance on the young man. "Do you refuse?" "What do you think of the artists now?" asked Patricia, leaning back in the carriage as they were being whirled homeward. "Are they such serious people as you thought them, Norn?" "They will approach at different times—not? It will be more better to place them during the first rest.".

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Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was austere in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a pallid hue which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something sinister and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than a trifle uncanny. Physically, mentally, morally he was an enigma to the bovine inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh. "I have given you the message," said Jen, sharply. "Tell her I'll see her to-morrow. And now, Dido, I want to know what you have to do with this crime?" "Yes. I took a viper to my bosom, and it stung me," replied Jen, who, in his excitement, was pacing backward and forward with hasty steps. "But I shall be even with him. In some way or another I believe it is possible to bring home to him this triple crime." "Precisely," assented Jen, eagerly. "Therefore your mother--".