” Anna hesitated, and then held out the letter. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. To be sure, Ruth had dimly been aware of this; but now for the first time she was made painfully conscious of it. Relief flooded her. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. His friendship seemed a thing worth having. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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