But I don't pretend to understand this affair; it is wrapped in blacker mystery than the Man in the Iron Mask.

All I've got to say is--I had no hand in it; so no more of your black looks, Mistress Miriam." "And all I've got to say, Mr.Walraven," said Miriam, steadfastly fixing her eyes upon him, "is that if Mollie Dane is not found before the month is out, I will publish your story to the world.

What will Madame Walraven, what will Mrs.Carl, what will the chief metropolitan circles say then ?" "You hag of Hades! Ain't you afraid I will strangle you where you stand ?" "Not the least," folding her shawl deliberately around her, and moving toward the door: "not in the slightest degree.

Good-night, Carl Walraven--I have said it, and I always keep my word." "Keep it, and--" But Miriam did not hear that last forcible adjuration.

She was out of the library, and out of the house, ere it was well uttered--lost in the wet, black night.
Left alone, Carl Walraven resumed his march up and down the apartment, with a gloomier face and more frowning brows than ever.
It was bad enough before, without this tiger-cat of a Miriam coming to make things ten times worse.