“Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. The hotel manager was expostulating and Ah Cum was replying by a series of expressive shrugs. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. Stonily he had disengaged himself. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.
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