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"Oh! that-a-way."

"Coralie! Coralie Rothvelt!"--my cry was an honest one--"you tempt me beyond human endurance."

"But if she--oh, yes!--Yes, to be sure; she could easily have got here yesterday afternoon."

I drew the counterpane aside, lay down under it revolver in hand, and then, for the first time since I had put on the glorious gray, found I could not face the thought of death. I grew steadily, penetratingly, excruciatingly cold, and presently--to the singular satisfaction of my conscience--began to shake from head to foot with a nervous chill. It was agonizing, but it was so much better than the spiritual chill of which it took the place! I felt as though I should never be warm again. Yet the attack slowly passed away, and with my finger once more close to the trigger, I lay trying to use my brain, when, without prayer or plan, I solved the riddle, what I should do, by doing the only thing I knew I ought not to do. I slept.

Her face spoke passionate thanks. "That's all I can ask!" she said, whispered "When you go--keep the plain road,"--and vanished.

"Hindoo grammars!--No? Well, then,--perfumery!"

"Yes,--yes,--but, oh, don't you see, Smith? For you, yourself, that's all right; you've got to stay with him, and I'm glad you have. But he--oh why did he not go on hours ago, to meet them?"

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