She could tell that he was leering at her. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. “It may be her salvation. “It’s the spring,” he said. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand.
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