By next Saturday the plot had thickened.

Previous letters might have reddened Miss Ailie's eyes for an hour or two, but they gladdened her as a whole.

Now she sat crying all evening with this one on her lap; she gave up her daily walk to the Berlin wool shop, with all its romantic possibilities; at the clatter of the tea-things she would start apprehensively; she had let a red shawl lie for two days in the blue-and-white room.
Stroke never blanched.

He called his faithful remnant around him, and told them the story of Bell the Cat, with its application in the records of his race.

Did they take his meaning?
This Miss Ailie must be watched closely.