the arm-chair. It was Mademoiselle Henriette, cold and stiff.
Her dead hands were stained with earth.

At the back of the cottage they came on a freshly-formed mound, and
stuck on the top of it a piece of slate, such as children erect over
a thrush's grave.

On it was scratched--

Ci-Git
Lucille,
Jadis si Belle;
Dont dix-neuf Jeunes Hommes, Planteurs de
Saint Domingue.
ont demande la Main.
Mais La Petite ne Voulait Pas.
R.I.P.

This is the story of Loose-heels, otherwise Lucille's.



STATEMENT OF GABRIEL FOOT, HIGHWAYMAN.


The jury re-entered the court after half an hour's consultation.

It all comes back to me as vividly as though I stood in the dock at
this very moment. The dense fog that hung over the well of the
court; the barristers' wigs that bobbed up through it, and were