"I
ain't nothin' but ME, but blimme if I
don't--blimme!"
Sir Oliver Holt grew paler still.
He felt as he had done when Jinny
Montaubyn's poor dress swept against
him. His voice shook when he
spoke.
"So do I," he said with a sudden
deep catch of the breath; "it was
the Answer."
In a few moments more he went
to the girl Polly and laid a hand on
her shoulder.
"I shall take you home to your
mother," he said. "I shall take you
myself and care for you both. She
shall know nothing you are afraid of
her hearing. I shall ask her to bring
up the child. You will help her."
Then he touched the thief, who
got up white and shaking and with
eyes moist with excitement.
"You shall never see another man
claim your thought because you have
not time or money to work it out.
You will go with me. There are
to-morrows enough for you!"
Glad still sat clinging to her knees
and with tears running, but the ugliness
of her sharp, small face was a
thing an angel might have paused to
see.
"You don't want to go away from
here," Sir Oliver said to her, and she
shook her head.
"No, not me. I told yer wot I
wanted. Lemme do it."
"You shall," he answered, "and
I will help you."
The things which developed in
Apple Blossom Court later, the things
which came to each of those who
had sat in the weird circle round the
fire, the revelations of new existence
which came to herself, aroused no
amazement in Jinny Montaubyn's
mind.
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