I don't trust people of your stamp." Mary Goddard rose without a word and left the room.

When she was gone the convict set himself to finish the jug of ale she had brought, and looked about him.

He saw objects that reminded him of his former home.

He examined the fork with which he had eaten and remembered the pattern and the engraved initials as he turned it over in his hand.

The very table itself had belonged to his house--the carpet beneath his feet, the chair upon which he sat.