It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. B. . ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. . This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. E.
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