“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. If only she had thought to plunge the scissors into her own heart! Hoddy … to return and find her either gone or dead! But even as the Wastrel's arms gathered her, there came the sound of hurrying steps on the veranda. ’ ‘But what of justice?’ asked Lucilla, evidently dazed. He donned his winter coat. ” She said, frozen to the floor where she stood. " On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. " "But that's the point—I don't know.
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