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She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. " "The boy's not at my house," replied Wild. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. "Only sprained it a little, that's all," answered Thames; "the pain will go off presently. Then Ah Cum was notified that the patient had sat up in bed for quarter of an hour. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. ” 174 < 21 > THANKSGIVING She padded softly up the old stairs, exhausted and elated.
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