There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. ” “It is,” he replied, “the one humiliation of my life. The flight. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ” “I do it—of my own free will,” said Ann Veronica, kissing his hand again. “Very likely,” he answered.
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