And one night Monty would gamble--it was one of his faults, poor chap--and he had nothing left but his picture, and I played him for it--and won!" "Brute!" she murmured in an odd, choked tone.
"Sounds so, doesn't it?
But I wanted that picture.

Afterwards came our terrible journey back to the Coast, when I carried the poor old chap on my back day by day, and stood over him at night potting those black beasts when they crept up too close--for they were on our track all the time.

I wouldn't tell you the whole story of those days, Miss Wendermott for it would keep you awake at night; but I've a fancy for telling you this.

I'd like you to believe it, for it's gospel truth.

I didn't leave him until I felt absolutely and actually certain that he couldn't live an hour.