But whither The Tigress was bound or who the owner was lay beyond the reach of Ah Cum's deductions. They had refused. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead.
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