Yon must be mine to-night. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. She kept her eyes closed. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. I have it on my conscience that I offended you—” “Offended me when?” “I’ve been haunted by the memory of you. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. But Jack eluded their grasp. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars. “The other too if it is within my power.
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