She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. A very familiar face emerged from a crowd at the impromptu bar on the kitchen island. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The pistol was his own, it is true, but it was one which was taken from him when he forced his way in upon me before.
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