CHAPTER XIX. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. "After him," cried Wild; "he mustn't escape. You had better let me go again. Gerald realised Lucy had taken the hint, for she dragged her betrothed towards the door. There was enough contra-light to render her ethereal. The old lady clearly read his state of mind, for the apparently irrepressible dimple peeped out. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands.
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