Ideala cried in her heart with an
exceeding bitter cry: "God do so to him, and more also."
"Pray for me, lady."
But Ideala could not pray with a curse on her lips--and, besides, the
power to pray had been taken from her for many a weary day before that.
She thought of the policeman, and called him in.
"See, she is dying," she said, looking up at him helplessly; "and she
has asked me to pray, and I can't. Will you?"
And, quite simply and reverently, as if it had been part of his
ordinary duty, he took off his helmet and knelt down, a great rough-
looking man in a hideous dress, and prayed: "Dear Lord, forgive her!"
They were the last words she heard.
CHAPTER XX.
The people seemed to have deserted the house. Even the Tawdry One had
disappeared, and Ideala was obliged to lay out the poor dear girl
herself, and make her ready for decent burial. As soon as she could
leave the place she went, escorted by the policeman, to the fever
hospital to have her things fumigated. The risk of infection had not
troubled her till she remembered the likelihood of taking it to others,
but as soon as she thought of that she took the necessary precautions
to prevent it.
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