"Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. He was painfully in earnest, too. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. Perhaps for the first time he realized that Anna was by no means an ordinary person. So frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to which debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit in the burial-ground of Christ-church, without ceremony. What's the idea of the black border?" "My father recently died, sir.
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