“Better state of mind,” she gasped. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly. “Please forgive me—for one moment,” she sobbed. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. Without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets, with their ghastly burthens. It was not a difficult affair. .
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