Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. Thames Darrell, I've said, is at Mr. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spiritlamp and set it going. He became a little more personal and intimate. You poor man, what have you been doing to yourself?” “Nothing except travelling all night,” he answered. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. Mr. ” “We’ve both fallen on our feet! We’re the rarest of mortals! The real thing! There’s not a compromise nor a sham nor a concession between us.
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