Wood represents him?" "He's not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan," replied the carpenter, reluctantly, "But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. His heart hammered in his chest. His shoulders relaxed and his gaze wavered. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. You are the High Priestess of Life.
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