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There was a general murmur of surprise and a following rustle of gratification. "My own dear love," he murmured, softly. "How good of you to meet me." With regard to David Sarby, he had passed with the estate to Jen. The boy's father, a libertine, a drunkard and a confirmed gambler, had been forced, through his vices, to sell his ancestral home; and within a year of the sale he had dissipated the purchase money in debauchery. Afterward, like the sordid and pitiful coward he had always proved himself to be, he committed suicide, leaving his only son, whose mother had long since been worried into her grave, a pauper and an orphan..
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"If what I relate appears impossible don't blame me," he said, abruptly, "and I feel certain that you will laugh when I tell you about Voodoo!" "Oh, Bruce, the sycamore you painted is gone!" called Patricia, not turning. "Come and see!" She set to work with a will, humming to herself as she worked, the failure of her more ambitious undertaking forgotten in the joy of renewed hope, and her intimate knowledge of Judith's face and figure helping unconsciously to better work than she could have done in the schools. "Poor David!" sighed Jen, thinking of the young man cut off in the bloom of his youth..
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