“Oh, George,” she wailed, “they have sentenced him?”
“Two years in prison.”
“But he was innocent!”
“Yes, and some day it will be proven.” He looked at her strangely, “I must tell you—Dick has broken jail and fled north to Shasta county, where he will begin life anew. Then, if you still wish it, he will come to you.”
After four years the Singer-Lady returned for a concert at the little Opera House in Rattlesnake. She went to her old quarters at the Widow Miller's, on the edge of town.
“Eh, Dearie,” cried the good woman, “what have they been doing to ye, so to dim your bright youth, and to bring the sad lines to your mouth?”
“Mrs. Miller, where is he?”
“Ah—so that's the answer.” The girl's eyes filled with tears.
“Four years—and for the last two, no word. I must find George Taylor. Perhaps he—”