Mrs. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. Her English was halting. “She is likely somewhere on the road or perhaps in town, finding victims. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand. We shall have—hardly any money. “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. ” “It’s impossible.
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