"I want to know what you've done with the rest of the notes—with the gold— and the papers you took away from my room!" rejoined Wild. "I am coming to the point, Joan. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. There you will be, in an inner temple. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. In all this world there was no sacred ground that said to her: Return! She was of all human beings the most lonely.
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