My only love is for my poor lost son. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. “What did you say?” “Well, I considered myself justified in denying it,” Anna answered drily. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. They were only passers-by. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. One of the reasons why I decline to talk is this: that boy's punishment will be enough.
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