The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. “How did you find me?” She asked. He rose at once to his feet and turned a white face upon her. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. It was the blood she found that cemented her decision that her foster daughter was a criminal.
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