” She commanded him in a low tone. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. Sir John looked about him, and somehow the laugh died away. “Have you got to keep her now?” “To the best of my ability,” said Mr. He put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. On his third visit to the island she had surprised him, that is, she had glanced up suddenly and caught the look of the beast in his eyes. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love.
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