hang!"

They were both law-abiding people. They saw the gravity of her case.

"Not that I want the Pentlands. Dear knows I love the place, but I want
something more than those old hills. I want to go somewhere right far
away. The sight of a map makes me sick. And then I hear a band play--not
the pipes, they make me think of Walter Scott's poetry, which I never
could bear, but a band. I feel that if I followed it it would lead me
somewhere that I would like to go. And the posters. There's one at the
Waverley station--Venice. I could tear the thing down. Did you ever go
to Italy, Mr. Philip?"

"No. I go with the girls to Germany every summer."

"My patience!" said Ellen bitterly. "The way the world is! The people
who can afford to go to Italy go to Germany. And I--I'll die if I don't
get away."

"Och, I often feel like this," said Mr. Philip. "I just take a week-end
off at a hydro."

"A hydro!" snorted Ellen. "It's something more like the French
Revolution I'm wanting. Something grand and coloured. Swords, and people
being rescued, and things like that."

"There's nothing going on like that now," he said stolidly, "and we
ought to be thankful for it."

"I know everything's over in Europe," she agreed sadly, "but there's