It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. The ruffian's companions took his part. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. And catching hold of Thames, he quitted the deck. " "Ah. You have not forgotten——” “I have forgotten nothing?” he answered, enigmatically. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband.
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