In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under the great elm before the door. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. “The next question, Miss Anna,” he said, “is how am I to help you? I am wholly at your disposal. She recognized the face but could not quite place it. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. ” Anna was thoughtful. Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese.
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