But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. "You are all right?"—anxiously. “Hello, Gwen!” said Ann Veronica, trying to put every one at their ease. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse.
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