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She met him by the dugout after the game. These things are difficult. His hands were exploring her once again in the car. If only to say goodbye. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. 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. “Never—but, by Jove, you had a narrow escape,” Ennison exclaimed.
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