So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. And a time will come, Veronica, mark my words, a time will come when you will bless me for my firmness to-night. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle.
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