How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
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