Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. “I might go home, I don’t know. You might have spared yourself many useless journeys and disappointments, and us a good deal of anxiety. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. But one must disguise oneself. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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