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” “Perhaps not in a general way,” he answered calmly. ” She replied weakly. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. "I was," answered Sheppard. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. Ruth took hers in the sea, but was careful never to go beyond her depth because of the sharks. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands.
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