Methodist Meeting House. As he drove through the main street of Askatoon again, his lawyer-Burlingame's rival-wa

our office with me,"

business to

t no lawyer is ever identified with the morals, crimes or virtues of his client, yet has particular advantage from his crimes. So it was that Mazarine's lawyer enjoyed the pub

o had a faculty for being everywhere at the interesting moment, said, so

eh? That's it, stamp on a girl when she's down! When you can't win

ears and stung him. He lurched round, and with beady eyes blin

yourself, Mr. Mazarine,"

pproval. The loose low

viathan was being tortu

ceeded to make a new will, which should leave everything away from Louise. After

hat a woman loses who doesn't do her duty by the man that can give her

s it is, or as you want it to stand, because Mrs. Mazarine has her legal claims in spite of it! She's got a wife's dower-rights ac

still more; his crooked fi

ut her through Divorce-if you think you can. Of course this document'll stand as far as it goes, an

ow, and you can start divorce proceedings to-morrow too. There's plenty of evidence. She run away from me to go to him. She stayed with him a whole night on the prairie. I want the divorce, and I can get the evidence. Everybody knows.

veins. He now made his way to the house of the Methodist minister. There he announced that if he was disciplined at Quarte

ich coincided with that in which Orlando left Nolan Doyle's garden and took the trail to Slow Down Ran

he slackened his pace, and drove steadily homewards, lost in the darkest reflections he had ever known; and that was sa

housed more repulsive thoughts than were in Mazarine's heart in this unfortunate hour of his own making. No single feel

rit of unholy old age in him, was turned hatefully upon the youth long since gone from himself-the youth whic

ion was what money could buy; and what money had bought in the way of human flesh and blood, beauty and sweet youth he had not been able t

cher; he had exhorted and denounced; he had pleaded and proscribed; yet never in a

raised hands of admiration brought him, mistaking it for the real thing; but his life

nt which had drawn him into the fold of religion. It was some strain of heredity, his upbringing, the life into which he was born, pious, pedantic and prepostero

ared the Cross Trails on his way homewards, something shadowy, stooping, sprang up from the roadside and slip-slopped

the absorbed Joel Mazarine, and with long, hooked, steely fingers caught the throat of the Master of Tralee under the grayish beard. They clenched there with a power like that

but the horses, responding to the first jerk of the reins following the attack,

ched his throat Joel Mazarine could not speak, and L

t was a ghastly sort of mirth, and it had in it a multitude of things. Among them was vengeance and wild justice, and the thing that comes down through innumerable yea

in the hands of the dead man, placed the fallen hat on his head, climbed down from the wagon, patted a horse as he slip-slopped by

shadowy, and somehow strangely unreal, like his own. After a moment'

was coming from the north-that is, from the direction of Tralee; th

d in his mouth; then he

hers clucked also, and t