The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. "I've known him all my life," replied the other. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. "Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood. "Stop a minute, my dear," cried Austin. In a little while he and she were talking quite easily and agreeably. Anyhow, there it is: YOU ARE NOT GOING THERE. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “What is a ballot-box like, exactly?” she asked, as though it was very important to her.
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