They had changed identities absolutely. It brought no coconut. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. ‘How disappointing,’ mourned Gerald. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. She had not at first the power for concealment. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. "It looks as though, we should go together," he said, pulling her toward him. It was a capital diversion; and as usual the Leatherneck bested the Britisher, in seven rounds.
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