ense came in her eye.

"I have found out who," she whispered. "I have found out who has
created us, and made us as puppets in his hands."

"Is it the Almighty?" he asked.

"No; it is"--she said, with a burst of real laughter--"it is--The 'All
Caine!"

"What! our countryman the Manxman? The only great Novelist? The
beloved of Gladstone?" he gasped.

"Yes--and he intends to kill YOU--and we're only to be married at your
deathbed!"

John Gale arose with a look of stern determination. "I have suffered
much and idiotically--but I draw a line at this. I shall kick!"

Golly clapped her hands joyfully. "We will!"

"And we'll chuck him."

"We will."

They were choking with laughter.

"And go and get married in a natural, simple way like anybody else--and
try--to do our duty--to God--to each other--and to our
fellow-beings--and quit this--damned--nonsense--and in-fer-nal idiocy
forever!"

"Amen!"

PUBLISHER'S NOTE.--"In that supreme work of my life, 'The Christian,'"
said the gifted novelist to a reporter in speaking of his methods, "I
had endowed the characters of Golly and John Gale with such superhuman
vitality and absolute reality that--as is well known in the experience
of great writers--they became thinking beings, and actually criticised
my work, and even INTERFERED and REBELLED to the point of altering my
climax and the end!" The present edition gives that ending, which of
course is the only real one.

THE ADVENTURES OF JOHN LONGBOWE, YEOMAN

BEING A MODERN-ANTIQUE REALISTIC ROMANCE

(COMPILED FROM SEVERAL EMINENT SOURCES)

It seemeth but fair that I, John Longbowe, should set down this account
of such hap and adventure as hath befallen me, without flourish,
vaporing, or cozening of speech, but as becometh one who, not being a
ready writer, goeth straight to the matter in hand in few words. So,
though I offend some, I shall yet convince all, the which lieth closer
to my purpose. Thus, it was in the year 1560, or 1650, or mayhap
1710--for my memory is not what it hath been and I ever cared little
for monkish calendars or such dry-as-dust matter, being active as
becometh one who hath to make his way in the world--yet I wot well it
was after the Great Plague, which I have great cause to remember, lying
at my cozen's in Wardour Street, London, in that lamentable year,
eating of gilly flowers, sulphur, hartes tongue and many stynking
herbes; touching neither man nor mayd, save with a grea