Promise me one thing before I leave you. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. You left Hong-Kong at night, by way of the Pearl River, and arrived in Canton the next morning. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. Think better of it. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. “No.
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