Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. “You see, dear, one IS passionately anxious for something—what is it? One wants to be CLEAN. . ’ ‘Pah! You can never be Valade. The robbers proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no noise was made by their horses' feet. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog.
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