He looked just as Julian had the night she had first met him outside the Joliet Laundromat. Wild on his guard against an assassin. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Their eyes met, and his expressed perplexity and curiosity. "I'll tell you why," he said. After fifteen years, to find that peculiarly Occidental attribute—college loyalty—still alive in his heart! A Western idea that had survived; an idea that was merely the flower of youthful enthusiasm! With his hands still in his sleeves, his chin down in speculation over this phenomenon, he continued his patrol. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. Sheppard had been interred. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips.
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