"I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much longer here. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. I have always understood that men avoid like the plague a woman with a sense of humour. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it.
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