Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. "I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board. She could even think of what had happened. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat.
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