They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. But was it Faith? That is what she was this day going to find out. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. Few men could have done as much. "Steady, old top! What are you going to do?" "The damned scoundrel!" "I told you that child was opal. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered through the locked door, “Go away, Vee! I’m busy,” and made a lapidary’s wheel buzz loudly. I don’t care. " "Think not to delude me, audacious wretch," cried the carpenter. You can live just about how you like. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. “They might do you good,” she remarked. ‘One thing at a time, missie.
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