“I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. But you have not finished surely. Of all crafts,—and it was the only craft his poor father, who, to do him justice, was one of the best workmen that ever handled a saw or drove a nail, could never understand,—of all crafts, I say, to be an honest man is the master-craft. Nothing is wrong that you do. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. "But, as I was saying, I was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery! Though so young at the time, I remember every circumstance distinctly. ” He said as they parted company. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. I tried.
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