e stop, close as ss. one  again, but e  time,  o be afraid of him.

    urns and calls to Sue. Not far no to me es h her, alone.

    to secure her, I say. As you have me.

    t , sticks better.—? I  suspect  suppose  e? I so see o find out o me, today or tomorro some way, will you? Be sly.

    s ained finger to ly Sue comes, and rests at my side. S of till billoo drao toucidy o, I turn away.

    Next morning I ake o ligte from; and I stand  my dressing-room curned from me, but ract, o say. tte and stands ; the clinging red soil from his shoes.

    After t, I feel ting pressure of our plot as I t feel training of cets, tropical storms. I ! today I  and let t, puncture today, I  him claim me—!

    But, I do not. I look at Sue, and t s darkness—a panic, I suppose it, a simple fear—a quaking, a caving—a dropping, as into th of madness—

    Madness, my mots slo in me! t t makes me more frig. I take, for a day or t c.

    You groo my library, to abuse it?

    No, Uncle.

    ? Do you mumble?

    No, sir.

    s and purses udies me one is strange to me.

    age are you? ate. . Dont strike coy attitudes  age are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?—You may sonis. You to the passage of years, because I am a scholar? hmm?

    I am seventeen, Uncle.

    Seventeen. A troublesome age, if o believe our own books.

    Yes, sir.

    Yes, Maud. Only remember: your business is not  udy. Remember t too great a girl— nor am I too aged a sco iles come a