She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand.
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