The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. "Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. E. "Very well," said Rachel, with a toss of her pretty head, "very well. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. All this was the work of a minute. Let's get one idea into our heads. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground.
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