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Her father’s step quickened to a trot. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. And if one were to love some one very much, it’s just so that one would be blindest, just when one wanted most to see. She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement.
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