I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. It was impossible. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. “In the event of his death we should require you at once to attend at the inquest. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us.
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