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He stood with his hands in his pockets looking at Miss Klegg’s back. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. "Good night!" "Blueskin," whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed him, "wait without.
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