Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. This at once thrilled her and worried her. “Bother it all!” she swore. Michelle helped her mother clear the table and Lucy thanked her for the meal. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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