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Across the lawn there crept a wizen, gray-haired little man, with a cringing manner. He was white, but darkish in the skin, and there was something negroid about his face. This dwarfish little creature was a tramp, who had become a pensioner of Isabella's. He had attached himself to her like some faithful dog, and rarely failed to present himself at least once a day. "No; I understand. You have explained the affair of the handkerchief clearly. All the points have been elucidated save that dealing with the perfume." Major Jen's calls for least. His face was round and red, with a terrific blonde mustache fiercely curled. He had merry blue eyes, sparse hair, more than touched with gray, and an expression of good-humor which was the index to his character. Man, woman and child trusted Jen on the spot, nor was it ever said that such trust was misplaced. Even the most censorious could find no fault with the frank and kindly major, and he had more friends and more pensioners and fewer enemies than any man in the shire. Can any further explanation be required of so simple and easily understood a character?.
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The major looked fixedly at the man. "In that case, she will have to live in Deanminster jail; for there---as sure as I am a living man--Etwald shall find himself before another twelve hours are over his head. And now, my dear young lady," added Jen, rising, "I must leave you, to keep my appointment with the scoundrel. Do not speak of our conversation to anyone!" "I don't believe it.".
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