THE FLIGHT OF THE FEU FOLLETTE.

Dolores, flinging herself down upon Craik Tomlin, seized his face between her hands and raised his head, placing her knee beneath it. She panted like an exhausted doe, yet the fire that leaped from her eyes gave the lie to her attitude of sorrowing humility. Her lips moved feverishly, but she could not or would not speak aloud. Tomlin’s eyes were closed in agony, his teeth were clenched tightly upon his under lip; he gave no sign that he knew of her presence. And a sudden fury seized her at his irresponsiveness. She shook his head between her hands savagely.

“Wake! Speak!” she cried hoarsely. “Art indeed dead, at the moment of my triumph?”

Tomlin’s eyelids flickered, and his lips strove