" "You'll never live to see that day," cried Blueskin, fixing a menacing look upon him. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. That's the way she strikes me. He took a handful of the gravelly mud, with which the platform was covered, and threw the small pebbles, one by one, towards the gleam. “Hi. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room. “You go home,” he said, at parting; “you go home. I knew it. “I would have given up anything to see you your old self again—as you are this evening. Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me.
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