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Updated: May 17, 2025
Thomas Carr's letters were no more sacred with her than Lord Hartledon's. No woman living was troubled with scruples so little as she. It proved to have been written by a Dr. Mair, in Scotland, and was dated several years back. But now did Lord Hartledon really know he had that dangerous letter by him? If so, what could have possessed him to preserve it?
His first hasty suspicion that Valentine might have assumed the name of Arthur Carr, and might therefore be the man himself, was set at rest immediately by another look at the Bracelet. He knew that the lightest in color, of the two kinds of hair of which it was made, was Carr's hair, because it exactly resembled the surplus lock sent back by the jeweler, and enclosed in Jane Holdsworth's letter.
He felt like a renegade when he considered quitting that chosen field. But he felt also that it was a field in which he had no business now. He was still in this uncertain frame of mind a few days later when he borrowed a canoe from Lachlan and set out for the Fort. He had kept away from Carr's for nearly five weeks. Neither Sophie nor her father had come to his cabin again.
It was in Alan Howard's heart to cry out to her, 'Come down into the peace of it; it is all mine. Come down to live there with me. It may have been in John Carr's heart to whisper: 'It is mine until the last cent is paid on it; if you love it so, there may still be the way to get it back for you. But neither man spoke his thought.
Here we have another illustration of the way in which Christian dogma keeps the Christian conscience in many matters behind the ethical sentiment of the age. Many liberal divines would express genuine repugnance at Archbishop Carr's view of the war; yet some of the most liberal of these divines and laymen are almost as backward in another direction.
Food was growing scarce with them, too, as there was but little game to be found either in the Witchita Mountains or on the edge of the Staked Plains, and the march of Carr's column from Antelope Hills precluded their returning to where the buffalo ranged.
She spoke soft to me, and looked humble, and did what work I set her without idleness or murmuring; and once, even made as if she wanted to kiss me. But I was on my guard suspecting that she wanted to entrap me, with her wheedling ways, into letting out something about Mr. Carr's having written, and my having burned his letters.
So, in the present case, she had exhausted her distress at the idea of leaving home while weeping upon her father's shoulders, and ever since then the idea of the life in London, in Miss Carr's beautiful house, had been growing more and more attractive. And to be chosen first before all the others! It was a position which was full of charm to a girl's love of appreciation.
To be sure he had seen other girls with good teeth and red lips and other physical charms perhaps as great as Sophie Carr's. But these things had never riveted his attention. There was something about this girl that quickened every fiber of his being. And even while she made him always acutely conscious of her bodily presence, he was a little bit afraid of her.
"I happen to know that he did come back," said Mr. Carr. "Don't think it," was the unceremonious rejoinder. "I know it positively. And that he was in London." The detective looked over his notes, as if completely ignoring Mr. Carr's words. "You heard, gentlemen, of that mutiny on board the ship Morning Star, some three years ago? Made a noise at the time." "Well?"
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