"Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. But for him she might have been alive and happy. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. Wood, as, having seen the earth thrown over the remains of the unfortunate Mrs. Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. Disappointed puppy-love, and all that. “I’m going to talk of indifferent themes,” said Ramage, a little fussily, “until these interruptions of the service are over. He had but to give his orders. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. I am a physician first, which gives the man in me a secondary part. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor.
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