She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away. They had heard nothing, seen nothing. She allowed herself to be ejected, therefore, and retired to the parlour after cleansing the blood from her hands and her own slight wound in the kitchen. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg. Piano wire, stained with black rust from the horrible deeds she had committed.
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