Had
he hurt her?--and if so, how and when? With this, the dear girl's
face, with the look of pain on it which Miss Felicia had noticed,
rose before him. Perhaps Peter was right. He had never thought of
Ruth's side of the matter--had never realized that she, too, might
have suffered. To-morrow he would go to her. If he could not win
her for himself he could, at least, find out the cause and help
relieve her pain.
This idea so possessed him that it was nearly dawn before he
dropped to sleep.
With the morning everything changed.
Such a rain had never been known to fall--not in the memory of the
oldest moss-back in the village--if any such ancient inhabitant
existed. Twelve hours of it had made rivers of the streets,
quagmires of the roads, and covered the crossings ankle-deep with
mud. It had begun in the night while Isaac was expounding his
views on snuff boxes, tunnels, and Voltaire to Peter and Jack, had
followed Jack across the river and had continued to soak into his
clothes until he opened Mrs. Hicks's front door with his private
key.
Pages:
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386