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Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. Mr. “Well,” he said, argumentatively, “it IS. Yon must be mine to-night. ’. ’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. I’m sorry. I did so. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. He leapt down into the haha surrounding the terrace, and saw that the nun was there also and backing towards him, anxiously checking now and then above the level of the terrace. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. A wife formed part of his scheme of life, for several years he had been secretly but assiduously looking for her.
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