. CHAPTER VIII. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. Give me that picture, or I'll make you!" "Hear me," said Thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me. . “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. "My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you.
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