CHAPTER IX

KEITH DALLAS—CHISHOLM “There!” said Josepha, halting suddenly to point down into the little valley below them, a greeny sequestered hollow bosky with trees amid which rose the twisted Tudor chimneys and weather-worn gables of a once noble house. “There!” sighed Josepha, a shapely creature poised thus against the blue, arm outstretched, head bowed, sad-eyed, a very grieving goddess . . . . . . And how, how, how was he to tell her? She so good, so purely sweet, a being so far removed from the shame and sordid evil of…