He raised her to a sitting position. "And, oh! forgive me, though I can never forgive myself, for the misery I have caused you. And, as he quitted the room, the poor widow fell with her face upon the floor. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. How would it serve Nicholas to keep the truth from his daughter? A tiny thread of disquiet troubled him. And the less “anything” happened the better. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him.
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