had now little elasticity left. Just an extra glass of brandy to-morrow, and to-day would be as securely laid as those other episodes of his past.

While he watched, some one shifted the lamp . . . . a woman's shadow was thrown upon the white blind . . . . it wavered, grew monstrous, and spread, until the whole window was shrouded in gloom. . . . . Owen put the horse into a gallop . . . . and from up at Les Calais, the long-drawn melancholy howling of the dog filled with forebodings the silent night.