At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. There was no longer any risk in association with her. Perhaps in two or three weeks. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him.
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