"You shall see him to-morrow. Melusine tapped on it. “You must not. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. That's a queer yarn. I'm sorry. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs.
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