Passing at a glance over the whole of the intervening period; leaving in the words of the poet, —The growth untried Of that wide gap— we shall resume our narrative at the beginning of June, 1715. “Looks like old times here, I see. You've caught the colour and the life. Lucy looked at the stains on the threadbare carpeting to distract herself, embarrassed to her core. You have all the earmarks of a fugitive from justice. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. She did not forge a note. I do not blame you for the act. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long.
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