She leaves town to-morrow. The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling.
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