The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. Come, make yourself scarce. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. Michelle shrugged her off. “Rubbish!” he answered. "Have nine years so changed me, that there is no trace left of your adopted son?" "God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can—can it be?" "Surely," screamed Mrs. ‘Certainly you must have seen her. Until that was done a certain experience of life assured him that a girl is a locked coldness against a man’s approach. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. “You see, it comes after all,” she continued, “from certain original convictions which have become my religion.
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