On the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at Wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. If only out of loyalty to co-education one has to do that. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God's unhappy world.
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