"I wonder," he murmured, "if anything will happen."

Lovell shrugged his shoulders.

"Where I go," he said, "the cruder passions may rage, and life and
death be reckoned things of little account. But you who remain--who
can tell?--you may look into the face of mightier things."



OUTSIDE THE PALE

Three men were together in a large and handsomely furnished sitting
room of the Clarence Hotel, in Piccadilly. One, pale, quiet, and
unobtrusive, dressed in sober black, the typical lawyer's clerk, was
busy gathering up a collection of papers and documents from the table,
over which they had been strewn. His employer, who had more the
appearance of a country gentleman than the junior partner in the
well-known firm of Rocke and Son, solicitors, had risen to his feet,
and was drawing on his gloves. At the head of the table was the
client.

"I trust, Sir Wingrave, that you are satisfied with this account of
our stewardship," the solicitor said, as his clerk left the room. "We
have felt it a great responsibility at times, but everything seems to
have turned out very well. The investments, of course, are all above
suspicion."

"Perfectly satisfied, I thank you," was the quiet reply. "You seem to
have studied my interests in a very satisfactory manner."