I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. '" "What is that?" she asked. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. I had no idea she could go so fast. "That's scarcely a fair question, Mr. ‘Pitiful. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. We had not then recovered from the shock. " "No more of this," rejoined Thames, "or we shall quarrel. His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. Do you want me to say anything to him?\" As she suspected, John was connected to everybody.
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