You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded.
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