She turned her head away sharply. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. He was looking pale and ill. His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. ’ ‘How can I have more? You have taken my pistol. It is not so. ” “I’m sorry. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop.
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