The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind.
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