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. CHAPTER VII. " "Wait a bit, massa," replied the grinning negro,—"lilly bit—see all right fust. Vorsack echoed him. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. "I've not quite done yet," said Jonathan, as he joined the turnkeys. ’ Martha got up with a swish of her black habit. "It is time!" "For what?" grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. ” She stared before her, trying to keep back a rush of tears. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional.

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