|On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmeou

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ear. By using the large end as a lever,
he tore away pieces of the wooden shell which enshrouded Margery and
all her loveliness, till the aperture was large enough for her to
pass without tearing her dress. She breathed her relief: the silly
girl had begun to fear that she would not get to the ball after all.
He carefully wrapped round her a cloak he had brought with him: it
was hooded, and of a length which covered her to the heels.
'The carriage is waiting down the other path,' he said, and gave her
his arm. A short trudge over the soft dry leaves brought them to the
place indicated.
There stood the brougham, the horses, the coachman, all as still as
if they were growing on the spot, like the trees. Margery's eyes
rose with some timidity to the coachman's figure.
'You need not mind him,' said the Baron. 'He is a foreigner, and
heeds nothing.'
In the space of a short minute she was handed inside; the Baron
buttoned up his overcoat, and surprised her by mounting with the
coachman. The carriage moved off silently over the long grass of the
vista, the shadows deepening to black as they proceeded. Darker and
darker grew the night as they rolled on; the neighbourhood familiar
to Margery was soon lyilai：
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On the Makaloa Mat LondonJack Publishedabmcsa