Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. "May come!—it will come!—it shall come!" cried the carpenter, shaking his hand menacingly at him. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware. Heaven forbid. “Aunt!” she said, “I can’t—” Then she caught a wild appeal in her aunt’s blue eye, halted, and the door clicked upon them. And then I came here. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. Catch him, she begged silently.
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