So Mrs. “Cheveney!” she repeated. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. Did he not look for her in the morning when she entered—come very quickly to her? She thought of him as she had last seen him looking down the length of the laboratory to see her go. She was alone with a deadly enemy. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell.
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