Genre - Romance. You are on the page - 28

whispered the pirate captain dubiously, aside."Speak on!" again commanded he of the blue eyes. "But your life blood dyes the deck if you seek to deceive Jean Lafitte, or Henry L'Olonnois!" (So then, thought I, at last I knew their names.) In reply I reached to my belt and drew out quickly--so quickly that they both flinched away--the long handled knife which, usually, I carried with me for cutting down alders or other growth which sometimes entangled my flies as I fished

th whom personally I had but a slight acquaintance, although I knew them somewhat by reputation. The younger one, Clinton Browne, is a young artist whose landscapes were beginning to attract wide attention in Boston, and the elder, Charles Herne, a Western gentleman of some literary attainments, but comparatively unknown here in the East. There is nothing about Mr. Herne that would challenge more than passing attention. If you had said of him, "He is well-fleshed, well-groomed, and

ople were blessed and shriven by the tremblingpriests. Outside no bird flew, and there came no rustling fromthe woods, nor any of the homely sounds of Nature. All was still,and nothing moved, save only the great cloud which rolled up andonward, with fold on fold from the black horizon. To the west wasthe light summer sky, to the east this brooding cloud-bank,creeping ever slowly across, until the last thin blue gleam fadedaway and the whole vast sweep of the heavens was one great

icture had flashed across her brain, and there were two figures in it sitting together under a great trailing wisteria that stretched across the branches of a tree she didn't know, and it was herself and Mrs. Arbuthnot--she saw them--she saw them. And behind them, bright in sunshine, were old grey walls--the mediaeval castle --she saw it--they were there . . .She therefore stared at Mrs. Arbuthnot and did not hear a word she said. And Mrs. Arbuthnot stared too at Mrs. Wilkins, arrested by the