She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. "O, lud!" she cried; "French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!" "A good supper will set all to rights," insinuated Kneebone. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr.
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