"You will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined Jonathan. Never since I was a girl have I seen your father so moved. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. “You ass and imbecile, Ann Veronica! You female cad! Cad! Cad!. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. Racing, he reached it perhaps a moment or two later. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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