At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Her education was remarkable in that it was overdeveloped here and underdeveloped there: the woman of thirty and the child of ten were always getting in each other's way. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. "Safe!" shouted Darrell, as he effected a secure landing. “A woman wants a proper alliance with a man, a man who is better stuff than herself. ‘I believe that. All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. Yon must be mine to-night. “Why not?” “Because you are mine.
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