nd tensely, gripping t.  to tween us, and speaks in whispers.

    you. But I o Briar, after so mucomorroo leave  seeing you. You understand me. I make no judgement on your receiving me like tirs, you are to say t you  I found out your room and came,  invitation. Ive been guilty of as mucs as  once,  onig of and me? I to come?

    I say, I understand t you  somet: t my motic; t my uncle  t is no secret, anyone mig; ts . I am forbidden to forget it. I am sorry for you, if you meant to profit by it.

    I am sorry, o o remind you of it again. It means noto me, except as it o your coming to Briar and being kept by your uncle in suc is ed from your motune.—Youll forgive my speaking plainly. I am a sort of villain, and knoher

    villains best. Your uncle is t kind, for o  tell me you love  is  suit us. But for no and let me speak leman to a lady?

    ures and, after a second—as if ea-tray—ake our places on tgown. urns he folds.

    Noo tell you w I know, he says.

    I kno  from rey. t you—per you, as of some fabulous creature: t Briar, ering monkey, to recite voluptuous texts for gentlemen—pero do  tell you all t. ts noto me. rey, at least, is a little kinder; and t, . old me, in a pitying sort of tle of your life—your unfortunate motations, tions attac one in a . . . But rey une, and you are  you are h, Miss Lilly?

    I ate, t is several imes tliest book upon my uncles simes t. the only measure of value I know.

    It is a great sum, says Mr Rivers, c