" "Her release would be a mercy," pursued the matron. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. "Lean on me," said Jack.
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