" "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. I needed a man the worst kind of way—a man I could keep for at least six months. " So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips, apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate. “Why can’t you tell people that you are what you are? Why all the secrecy?” She looked beyond the farmhouse. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. Brown. Before Wood had time to inquire into the cause of this sound, his attention was diverted by a man, who rushed past the entry with the swiftness of desperation. Spurling, drily.
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