Strange to say, it opened at the very page on which she had last closed it, and again the warning words met her glance, "The wages of sin is death."
She started, closed the book, and thrust it from her.
"Take it!" she cried. "Take it, and welcome. I don't want it. It's not the book for me. I can't bear to be reminded of death and the grave, and all dismal things."
And of sin—she would fain forget that there was such a thing as sin, and that she was a sinner.
"What have you in that parcel?" asked the colonel, when the boy presently came out of Sally's room.
"My father's Bible, sir."
The colonel's person stiffened visibly. He elevated his chin, drew his military cloak about him with an air of annoyance, and with a commanding gesture signed to Gus to precede him as they passed out of Lavender Terrace.
"That's cant," he said to himself; "wants to do the religious, does he? His father's Bible, indeed! As if a boy whose father believed in the Bible would ever have fallen so miserably low!"
A profound distrust of those whom he was wont to describe as the "lower orders" was engrained in the colonel's character, and especially was he doubtful of any such if they professed to be religious.