"Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. ’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. What does he do these three days?’ She had come daily to the vestry, hoping to meet the lad and hear his report. Then he did give way a bit. He might spend the rest of his days at McClintock's in perfect security. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. .
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