WwW. V.«.

staring for a moment or two witha dazed be-
wildered brain. ‘Then into his eyes there
flashed a look of horror, and he struggled to
pull himself together. “My God, my God,
where is the Infant?” he groaned.

W. V. was hurried into the room, oblivi-
ously radiant. With a huge sigh Littlejohn
sank back smiling, and held out his hand to
her. Whereupon W. V., moving it gently
aside, went up close to him and spoke, half
in inquiry half in remonstrance, “You ’re zo?
going to be died, are you?”

70