"Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish. " "A time may come when you will be gratified, Mr. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. But you are Annabel. Don't you remember? There were four of us, and we went touring in the city. He was there concealed, waiting her return. But why do you ask?" "Because—" stammered the boy.
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