As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. “Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. \" Diane chirped once again, ever-musical. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. Your life is like a funeral March. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears.
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