“I am the most foolish of men. "Oh, easily enough," rejoined the other. Do I, Bess, eh?" "Nobody whatever, love," replied Edgeworth Bess; "nobody but me, dear. A Hand that strove to reach his shoulder, relentless, soulless but lawful. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. She dissected well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the lady B. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it.
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