But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. 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. Could she hold him and manage the reins? If only Gerald had not gone. She would write to Gerald. Though, to be fair, he did not know of it until after the wedding. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself.
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