She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. I could not hear his heart beat. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. . She became as The Tigress, a free thing. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence.
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