This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. “My word holds,” she said.
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