" And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. It is dull—deadly dull. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. Now the doctor had the "feel" that somewhere ahead lay danger. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds.
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