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"Don't the people seem funny-looking?" said Judith, blinking at the gayly dressed crush at the theater entrance. "They all seem like actors in a play, with the twinkly electric lights and the streaky yellow sunset behind those big buildings.",

"I think so; it is my belief, David, that Dr. Etwald killed Maurice!",

CHAPTER XII. THE STRANGE PERFUME.,

"Oh, dear heart," she exclaimed as she reached out and drew me into her lovely gracious arms, "then the privilege is all the more wonderful for you, as you make some sacrifice to complete his life. Having suffered this, you will be all the greater woman to understand him. I accept my own sorrow at his hands willingly, as it gives me the larger sympathy for his work, though he will no longer need my personal encouragement as he has for years. In the light of his love, this lesser feeling for Dr. Moore will soon pass away and the accord between you will be complete." This was more than I could stand, and, feeling less than a worm, I turned my face into her breast and wailed. Now who would have thought that girl could dance as she did?

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"Wait till Saturday, when old Jonesy lights on you," warned her new friend. "You won't find life so lightsome when his eagle eye discovers you.",

He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question:,

I believe it will be a real relief to write down how I feel about him in his old book, and I shall do it whenever I can't stand him any longer; and if he gave the horrid, red leather thing to me to make me miserable he can't do it; not this spring! I wish I dare burn it up and forget about it, but I daren't! This record on the first page is enough to reduce me—to tears, and I wonder why it doesn't.,

"Also, Miss Dallas must have had a horror of seeing constantly before her the man whom--innocently enough--she tried to kill. Hence her refusal to marry your dear Maurice. Am I wrong in these ideas? I think not. Still I should like an explanation from you. As I shall be here for some months--searching for the Voodoo stone and Dido--please send your letter to Barbadoes, directed to your anxious inquirer, Max Etwald."