terruption saved Phoebe from the
difficulty of any reply.

"Sometimes I half reckon a memory of that blessed boy still makes you
glum, my dear. Is it so? Haven't you forgot him yet?"

As he spoke an explosion, differing much in sound from those which
continued to startle the night, rang suddenly out of the distance. It
arose from a spot on the confines of the orchard, and was sharp in
tone--sharp almost as the human cries which followed it. Then the
distant lights hastened towards the theatre of the catastrophe. "What
has happened?" cried Phoebe, thankful enough to snatch conversation away
from herself and her affairs.

"Easy to guess. That broken report means a burst gun. One of those old
fools has got excited, put too much powder into his blunderbuss and
blown his head off, likely as not. No loss either!"

"Please, please go and see! Oh, if 'tis Billy Blee come to grief,
faither will be lost. Do 'e run, Mr. Grimbal--Jan, I mean. If any grave
matter's failed out, send them bwoys off red-hot for doctor."

"Stop here, then. If any ugly thing has happened, there need be no
occasion for you to see it."

He departed hastily to where a distant galaxy of fiery eyes twinkled and
tangled and moved this way and that, like the dying sparks on a piece of
burnt paper.

Then the patient grey shadow, rewarded by chance at last, found his
opportunity, slipped into the hedge just above Grimbal's sweetheart, and
spoke to her.

"Phoebe, Phoebe Lyddon!"

The voice, dropping out of empty air as it seemed, made Phoebe jump, and
almost fall; but there was an arm gripped round her, and a pair of hot
lips on hers before she had time to open her mouth or cry a word.

"Will!"

"Ess, so I be, alive an' kicking. No time for anything but business now.
I've followed 'e for this chance. Awnly heard four day ago 'bout the fix
you'd been drove to. An' Clem's made it clear 't was all my damn silly
silence to blame. I had a gert thought in me and wasn't gwaine to write
till--but that's awver an' done, a

Oscar Fingal OFlahertie Wills Wilde (16 October 1854 30 November 1900) was an Irish playwright, novelist, poet, and author of short stories. Known for his biting wit, he was one of the most successful playwrights of late Victorian London, and one of the greatest celebrities of his day. Raised in Dublin he later studied at Trinity College, Dublin and Magdalen College, Oxford. After graduating with honours he spent the next few years in London, the United States and Paris. He married Constance Lloyd in 1884 and the couple had two sons. As the result of a widely covered trial, Wilde suffered a dramatic downfall and was imprisoned for two years of hard labour after being convicted of the offence of gross indecency.

Various, or Various Production, is an English dubstep/electronic music duo formed in 2003. The group blends samples, acoustic and electronic instrumentation, and singing from a revolving cast of vocalists. Its members, Adam and Ian, purposefully give very little information about the group or themselves, and tend to do little in the way of self-promotion.[1] Nevertheless, the group began winning critical acclaim with its single releases in 2005 and 2006.[2] Their full-length for XL, The World is Gone, arrived in July of 2006.[3][4][5][6][7] They have released a large number of vinyl EPs and 7 records, as well as digital exclusives for Rough Trade, iTunes, and Boomkat.[8]