" "A promise to my mother?" said Winifred, unsuspiciously. I see. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. \" She opened the front door with her keys, stepping inside. I went to her rooms to-night. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. They will say that it was murder. I would sooner see you in a ’bus again. ” “I don’t understand. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right.
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