Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. There is no further hope. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. ‘I have told you I will take Jacques. Wood was once a favourite of yours. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. For a moment her thoughts led her back to the evening when she and Courtlaw had stood together before the window of her studio in Paris, before the coming of Sir John had made so many changes in her life. "Not proud in the least, I declare. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish.
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