" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Lucy slipped upstairs silently. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. “Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts. She started at the falling of a leaf, at the lumbering of a cow through the hedge. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. She went to a writing-desk and made some memoranda on a sheet of note-paper, and then remembered that she had no address as yet to which letters could be sent.
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