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Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. Le Mercier and Stowe of St. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. "Oh, God! that I might die too," cried Jack, falling on his knees beside her. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms.
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