He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. "I believe he's gone," he said, returning to Jonathan. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. Wood. ” Brendon hesitated for a moment. ‘I did not send you a card because in the normal way of things you rarely attend such affairs. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest.
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