“In fact, yes, I do. ‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to her. “Here goes,” he said. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously. She leaves town to-morrow. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. You will begin to see it all opening out. Turning, she flew for the nearest door. Wild of the circumstance. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede's drooping back.
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