It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. A cold shiver came over her. Sulphurous poisons assaulted her nostrils as she threw the stone to one side of its resting place. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. ” “Oh, well!” he said, a little doubtfully, “it’s just a phase,” and bent down and rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, with his heart beating and his nerves a-quiver. She tried not to pant, not to reveal herself, and she began to shake. “Take off your tunic.
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