At this juncture the singular drowsiness which had overtaken him so persistently in the past few days began to steep his dulling senses.
Warned by its approach, Raikes began to put into execution a newly conceived plan of retiring for the night and effective vigil over his treasure-trove.
Hastily drawing a chair before the radiator, and placing directly in front of that the table, from which with a savage sweep of the arm he swept the dull heap of coals rattling to the floor, Raikes established himself in the seat so provided and, leaning forward, awaited the final blandishments of the drowsiness which was not long in lulling him into that profound degree of slumber which is commonly supposed to be the reward of sound morals and Christian resignation.
(To be continued on Dickey No. 3, Series B.)
During the reading of this impossible helter-skelter of unrestrained imagination and composite style, the expression in the countenance of the listening woman had developed from its original sadness to an unmistakable geniality.
The pensive droop of her lips, little by little, nestled away into a smiling seriousness, and when Dennis, confronted with the habitual conclusion in italics, looked up with a grimace of recognition, his glance was met by a pair of kindly blue eyes, in which he believed he traced a charming suggestion of unaffected good fellowship.
Altogether unsuspected by himself, Dennis, with his intent, intelligent countenance, and the contrasting vivacity of his rich, Irish accent, had awakened an interest in the mind of his companion which months of adroit approach could not have achieved.
His genuineness was unquestionable.
His entire absorption in the story, his delightful and unconscious elimination of self, supplied this tired woman with elements of mental refreshment and genuine enjoyment which circumstances had compelled her to decide no longer existed.