“I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. ’ ‘I don’t, as a matter of fact,’ Gerald said decidedly, a frown creasing his brow. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. It had been a big event for teens across town. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. But I shan’t try to stop you. And taking the keys, he departed on the errand. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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