She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. “Did you—did you really think that they would take you for a Frenchman?” she exclaimed. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. The crown has passed from the brow of one monarch to that of another. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. It is so ridiculous. ” “It isn’t,” said Mr. The executioner shook his head.
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