“Fibre paper!” he repeated, confounded by her candor.
“Yes—government fibre. Do you think I don’t know what it is?”
For the first time there was bitterness in her voice. She turned partly around, supporting her body on one arm. “Fibre paper? Ah, yes—I know what it is,” she said again.
He looked her squarely in the eyes and he saw in her face that she knew what he was and what he had been doing in Nauvoo. The blood slowly stained his pallid cheeks.
“Well,” he said, coolly, “what are you going to do about it?”
His eyes began to grow narrow and the lines about his mouth deepened. The criminal in him, brought to bay, watched every movement of the young girl before him. Tranquil and optimistic, he quietly seated himself on the wooden steps beside her. Little he cared for her and her discovery. It would take more than a pretty, lame girl to turn him from his destiny; and his destiny was what he chose to make it. He almost smiled at her.
“So,” he said, in smooth, even tones, “you think the game is up?”
“Yes; but nothing need harm you,” she answered, eagerly.
“Harm me!” he repeated, with an ugly sneer; then a sudden, wholesome curiosity seized him, and he blurted out, “But what do you care?”
Looking up at him, she started to reply, and the words failed her. She bent her head in silence.