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We listened again. "They've gone the wrong way," I said, still savage.

"My dear madam, you don't realize ours. We don't want to imprison women."

The flap fell again and my panic was turned into a joy qualified only by a reduced esteem for my general as a judge of character.

I failed to catch her reply. She spoke in a tone of pain and sunk her face in her hand. "Head ache?" I asked. "No." She straightened, and from under her coquettish hat bent upon me such a look as I had never seen. In her eyes, in her tightened lips, and in the lift of her head, was a whole history of hope, pride, pain, resolve, strife, bafflement and defiance. She could not have chosen to betray so much; she must have counted too fully on the shade of her hat-brim. The beautiful frown relaxed into a smile. "No," she repeated, "only an aching conscience. Ever have one?"

"She air!" He was pleased. "Yass, we all good frien's togetheh."

"Oh, shut your dirty face!" replied the son, while one of his cronies warned both against being overheard. But when this one added something further the old man snarled:

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