"I'm a peace-officer," he added, "about to arrest a notorious criminal. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. ” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. A simple wooden monument was placed over the grave, but without any name or date. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. She shook them off of one foot. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. Another glass, Jack. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Probably he will come around to-morrow and begin all over again.
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