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. E. . She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. It was the bitterest moment of her life. “It’s a nice holiday. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. But she was not sure just how to reach it. “I heard your voices, and the hall is draughty. “For better or worse. Can you lend me some stuff?” “You ARE a chap!” said Constance, and warmed only slowly from the idea of dissuasion to the idea of help.
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