He drew a little sigh of relief. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. " The Wastrel advanced. The inn was a military haunt. ” The lady in black satin appeared undecided. “I cannot say more. . Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung. “Nothing was ever done,” Miss Brett asserted, “without a certain element of Faith. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. Anna passed serenely out.
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