He used his utmost efforts to liberate Jack from Langley, but closely pressed on all sides, he was not able to render any effectual assistance. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. He made it more and more evident to her that her proper course was not to earn a salary but to accumulate equipment. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. Don't you see they're putting on their cloaks?" "That's false!" rejoined Marvel, in a low tone; "I perceive what has taken place. . . He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. CHAPTER XXII.
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