” The hand lingered too long. But if God is kind to me, someday I may climb up to where you are. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. “How did you find me?” She asked. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Queer old gentleman! The art of ignoring is one of the accomplishments of every well-bred girl, so carefully instilled that at last she can even ignore her own thoughts and her own knowledge. CHAPTER XV. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt.
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