He only stays here for you, hoping in vain. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. You will find it somewhere in that book. ‘You have rifled his papers. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. " "Yon ask impossibilities," replied Jonathan, sullenly. ‘Cousin? But I am a fool. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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