Then he came towards us, narrowly watching the stream. It had sunk more and more—the muddy bottom was showing plainly.
"Yes—that's it—it can be nothing else! I did not think he would have dared to do it."
"Do what, John? Who?"
"Lord Luxmore." He spoke in the smothered tones of violent passion. "Lord Luxmore has turned out of its course the stream that works my mill."
I tried to urge that such an act was improbable; in fact, against the law.
"Not against the law of the great against the little. Besides, he gives a decent colouring—says he only wants the use of the stream three days a week, to make fountains at Luxmore Hall. But I see what it is—I have seen it coming a whole year. He is determined to ruin me!"
John said this in much excitement. He hardly felt Muriel's tiny creeping hands.
"What does 'ruin' mean? Is anybody making father angry?"
"No, my sweet—not angry—only very, very miserable!"
He snatched her up, and buried his head in her soft, childish bosom. She kissed him and patted his hair.