Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. ’—he’s frightfully anti-Mendelian—having it all their own way. “I’m d——d if I understand this,” he said thoughtfully. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. How dreary it all looks. The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. Lost from all protection, all her family dead—as are mine. ” He paced the room for a minute or two restlessly.
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