Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out.
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