Well, it's scarcely credible. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip.
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