The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. “Miss Pellissier,” he said, “don’t!” “Why not?” she asked, smiling. After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. Wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!" "I see,—persons of rank!" Mr.
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