At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Then for a time she sat very still. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. But I will go. . ’ She edged sideways a little more, her eyes on the pistol in his hand. ‘They cannot help it. .
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