Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. "Away with him!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, impatiently. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. To go to Hoddy, to smother him with kisses and embraces in this hour of triumph! To save herself from committing the act—the thought of which was positive hypnotism—she began the native dance. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. And you promised to tell me. But ——” A look checked him. "'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them.
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