"You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. Perhaps you will now explain the alarm. You denied it at the time—but unfortunately I have proof. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. “I shall have to go through the building.
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