Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him. I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. “Don’t you care for Mr.
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