Part 40 (2/2)

”He is deaf, Cecil, as the stones” But at her husband's face she motioned to Mellon: ”Stand away a bit His Grace wants to rest on the wall I'll call you”

With his wife's ararden wall, his ashen face lifted to her

”I've only one arm,” he said He put it around her and he drew her down as close to hiainst his with tears As the Duke, who, Bulstrode said, was no lover, kissed his wife, the dial see to ive me?Then,”

said Westboro', satisfied by what he heard, ”I'm cured I love you--I love you”

The woman could not find her voice, but as she held him she was the warmest, sweetest prop that ever a wounded man leaned upon After a few seconds she helped him to rise, helped him on, and he found his balance and his equilibriued to reach the door-sill Mellon and theher husband, she bade them send for a doctor as fast as they could and to send at once for Bulstrode at the castle

Westboro's wound had become a sort of intoxication to hiht in an hour I need no one but you; send them all away, all away”

He had never commanded her before, he had let her rule him, he had been indifferent to her disobedience But now she did what he bade her, and led hi-room, suddenly repossessed of all its old chare, where he sank down Here, by his side, she gave hi for the doctor to coht in the King's wars, bore up like a man with no resemblance whatsoever to the amorous cavalier whose curls had met the dust of the road for love of Queen Elizabeth

The duchess found his--very much of a man, and knew that he was hers And he,physical pain, found her a woman and knew that she loved him and that she was his

The house, so deserted and desolate an hour ago, grew fresh, war the wall and The Dials, flushed the s red, and the deserted bird's-nest, lately ”filled with snow” appeared to have, as the light rained upon it, filled itself with roses So, an hour later, it see the lovers

THE EIGHTH ADVENTURE

VIII

IN WHICH HE COMES INTO HIS OWN

England, the heart of the countryside, freshened by December and drifted over by delicate breaths that are scarcely fog, and through which like a chrysanthelass the sun contrives to shi+ne, the English country in Dece, London quite another

Jiton to his destination, part of the ti hansom in immediate peril of collision with every other object that like hi

He fetched up before No ----, Porthaerness to find his friend did not ask hi hours

She was at hoentle what the words, heard often in the course of ten years, -roo table at her side, a pen in her hand, he found Mrs Falconer

He sincerely struggled with an inability to speak at once, even the consoling how-d'-dos that cover for us a ue's end

The fire had burned away a few feet of fog and lighted lah an obscurity about whose existence there could be no doubt

The inhly co neither of thee of several thousand reeted--Bulstrode triuh both real and rate, than an enchanting homeliness overspread the place Bulstrode felt it and smiled with content to think she did as well, and remembered an occasion in America when they had both of them missed a train for some out-of-the-way place and found themselves side by side in aafternoon The flies and istered ninety degrees, but happy, cool and unruffled Mary Falconer, s up at him from her hard bench, had said:

”Jimmy, let's _build_ here!”

”No one, Jimmy, is old”--Mrs Falconer had once said to hiray hairs had drifted into their conversation Noticing the s her hair, Bulstrode had spoken of its golden quality, and the lady had suddenly covered the strand with her hand; she knew that there ran a line she did not want him to see