It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. “Earning a salary!” “You’re like a Princess in Exile!” he repeated, overruling her. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building. With a cry of distress, she dropped the pistol and flew after him, racing past him to the door. That added to his puzzle. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry.
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