John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. ’ ‘You surprise me. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Occasionally he relit his pipe. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. "Under the table.
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