The torture was too
malicious for God. . . .
Phil's letter has gone to his pal at Danger Mountain. . . .
The fourth day after the funeral Justine Caron came to see Galt Roscoe.
This was the substance of their conversation, as I came to know long
afterwards.
"Monsieur," she said, "I have come to pay something of a debt which I owe
to you. It is a long time since you gave my poor Hector burial, but I
have never forgotten, and I have brought you at last--you must not shake
your head so--the money you spent. . . . But you MUST take it. I should
be miserable if you did not. The money is all that I can repay; the
kindness is for memory and gratitude always."
He looked at her wonderingly, earnestly, she seemed so unworldly,
standing there, her life's ambition not stirring beyond duty to her dead.
If goodness makes beauty, she was beautiful; and yet, besides all that,
she had a warm, absorbing eye, a soft, rounded cheek, and she carried in
her face the light of a cheerful, engaging spirit.
"Will it make you happier if I take the money?" he said at last, and his
voice showed how she had moved him.
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