They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. " "Where are you going?" asked his mother. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. "Ha!" he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; "how came this into your possession, boy?" "Why don't you answer, sirrah?" cried Wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff. A large dog was then set at him by a stable-boy; but, striking the animal with his faithful iron-bar, he speedily sent him yelping back. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient.
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