" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. He succeeded so well that by the time he asked for her name once more, she fluttered her lashes as coquettishly as ever. She could not see clearly. Next instant he had her immobilised, her hands behind her back, her chest crushed to his, the white veil slipping once again. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. “Cheveney!” she repeated. Unable to withstand this appeal, Thames gave the required promise, adding, —"Oh! Winny, I wish Mr. .
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