‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. I can bear anything but suspense. But, perhaps Mr. “You are coming in, aren’t you, Sydney?” “If I may,” he answered. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall.
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