The things we do!

It was to these remote and somewhat singular surroundings that
there approached, on the evening of a bland autumn day, along the
winding road which followed the little stream, the great coach of
the master of Tallwoods, drawn by four blooded carriage horses,
weary, mud-stained and flecked with foam. At the end of the
valley, where the road emerged from its, hidden course among the
cliffs, the carriage now halted. Dunwody himself sprang down from
the driver's seat where he had been riding in order to give the
occupants of the coach the more room. He approached the window,
hat in hand.
"My dear lady," said he, "this is the end of our journey. Yonder
is my home. Will you not look at it?"
It was a pale and languid face which greeted him, the face of a
woman weary and even now in tears. Hastily she sought to conceal
these evidences of her distress. It was the first time he had seen
her weeping. Hitherto her courage had kept her cold and defiant,
else hot and full of reproofs.


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