But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. "Let us hope that, like her who 'loved much,' her sins are forgiven her. " So, after a time, encountering the blot, she herself would supply the word Faith. Auntie has taken the nails out of my palms, but the scars will always be there.
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