***** In the daytime the streets of the ancient city of Canton are yet filled with the original confusion—human beings in quest of food. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. ‘Eh bien, does that mean that you will do it again?’ ‘Not if I can help it,’ Gerald uttered, alarmed. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. It was 1582. I will take her back. " Lady Trafford sighed deeply. As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. Ennison spoke at last. Would you mind drawing them back?” Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains. The girl suppressed a chuckle that would have been inexplicable. ‘Let’s check the rest of it and then I suppose we will have to break in.
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