Though meant to produce a totally different effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Perhaps marriage hurt. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Nevertheless, she was no fool, and she knew that they could easily break loose and cause her to fall. So he decided to stay.
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