"And your mother--does she know?"
He paused, and looked at her very hard.
"God forbid."
"She is--"
"She is in heaven, where nothing is known of what goes on upon
earth."
"How can you tell that?"
"There would be no peace in heaven otherwise, Mistress Pemberthy;
only great grief, intense shame, misery, despair, madness, at the
true knowledge of us all," he said, passionately. "On earth we men
are hypocrites and liars, devils and slaves."
"Not all men," said Sophie, thinking of Reu Pemberthy.
"I have met none other. Perhaps I have sought none other--all my
own fault, they will tell you where my father is; where," he added,
bitterly, "they are worse than I am, and yet, oh, so respectable."
"You turned highwayman to--to--"
"To spite them, say. It is very near the truth."
"It will be a poor excuse to the mother, when you see her again."
"Eh?"
But Sophie had no time to continue so abstruse a subject with this
misanthropical freebooter. She clapped her hand to her side and
gave a little squeak of astonishment.
"What is the matter?" asked Captain Guy.
"My keys! They have taken my keys."
And, sure enough, while Sophie Tarne had been talking to the captain,
some one had severed the keys from her girdle and made off with
them, and there was only a clean-cut black ribbon dangling at her
waist instead.
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