"Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!" "What!" vociferated Trenchard. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. Its smooth surface soothed her nerves. "He is gone!" cried Mrs. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.
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