Directed by the same individual, who had helped Darrell to steal a march upon him, Rowland, with Davies, and another attendant, continued the pursuit. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. "Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say?" was McClintock's suggestion, when the frolic was over. " "You're strangely superstitious, Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, halting, and looking steadfastly at him.
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