"Damn them!" thought Farwell; "they have taken it out of her. I knew they would; but they have not conquered her!"
Boswell thoughtfully considered her when her eyes were turned from him.
"She learned," he thought; "suffered and learned; but when she gets her breath she will go back. The In-Place cannot hold her."
Then they told her of the Kenmore folk.
"Your father has had a stroke, Priscilla," Farwell said in reply to her question; "it has made him blind. Long Jean cares for him. He will have no other near him."
"And—he never wants me?" Priscilla whispered.
"No; but he needs you!" Boswell muttered. "You must let your velvety wings brush his dark life; the touch will comfort him."
"And old Jerry?"
Farwell leaned forward to poke the fire.
"Old Jerry," said he, "has gone mildly—mad. All day he sits dressed in his best, ready to start for Jerry-Jo's. He fancies that scapegoat of his has a mansion and fortune, and is expecting his arrival. He amuses himself by packing and unpacking a mangy old carpet-bag. Mary McAdam looks after him and the village youngsters play with him. It's rather a happy ending, after all."