But never would any so dishonour himself as to hand a fellow rogue over to the authorities. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. You will leave me utterly distraught. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St. ‘Soldier of fortune. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. Part 8 “Why should I ever come back?” she said to herself, as she went down the staircase. CHAPTER VIII. I have said that I am but a nun now.
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