A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. In Europe or in America people would have smiled; but in Singapore—the half-way port of the world—where a human kaleidoscope tumbles continuously east and west, no one had remarked her. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. “And to-night we are friends?” “We are friends,” said Ann Veronica, and drew her hand quickly away from him.
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