As to following, there was no one. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. He never felt any need to explain himself. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter.
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