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“In the event of his death we should require you at once to attend at the inquest. His name is Taber?" "Howard Taber. Forgive me, but you have been looking, have you not, for some employment?” “Quite true!” she answered. The word of a Chinaman; he had given it, so he must abide. Burn your palette and your easel. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.
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