Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. John. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. You MUST not, you SHALL not go. Larry fell off the truck the Wednesday night before she planned on leaving. THAMES DARRELL.
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