I freely forgive you. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally.
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