"Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. "Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. I have since received a most extraordinary letter from her. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. Especially when they wear cologne. Someone was coming out of the house. “Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. ' So I go to Patagonia.
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