As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. Come with me, Langley, and bring the lantern. ‘Oh my God,’ uttered Gerald in some dismay. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. “You killed them, didn’t you?” He said. "He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end.
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