“And it  you alone h Mason?”

    “I  of the inner room.”

    “But I ened t: I s a lamb—my pet lamb—so near a wolf’s den, unguarded: you were safe.”

    “ill Grace Poole live ill, sir?”

    “O trouble your   t of your ts.”

    “Yet it seems to me your life is ays.”

    “Never fear—I ake care of myself.”

    “Is t night gone by now, sir?”

    “I cannot vouc till Mason is out of England: nor even to live, for me, Jane, is to stand on a crater-crust which may crack and spue fire any day.”

    “But Mr. Mason seems a man easily led. Your influence, sir, is evidently potent  you at defiance or wilfully injure you.”

    “O defy me; nor, kno, , unintentionally,  in a moment, by one careless  of life, yet for ever of happiness.”

    “tell o be cautious, sir: let  you fear, and so avert the danger.”

    ily took my ily t from him.

    “If I could do t, simpleton, . Ever since I o say to ,’ and t I cannot give  say ‘Beive t I s t o me is possible. Notle friend, are you not?”

    “I like to serve you, sir, and to obey you in all t is right.”

    “Precisely: I see you do. I see genuine contentment in your gait and mien, your eye and face, ically say, ‘all t is rig you t -footed running, no neat-y, no lively glance and animated complexion. My friend urn to me, quiet and pale, and  is impossible: I cannot do it, because it is able as a fixed star. ell, you too  I dare not s, faitransfix me at once.”

    “If you o fear from Mr. Mason than y