“Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. It had been a trying day. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr. ” Annabel looked down. ” “Very romantic. Sydney sprang up.
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