“And he has no bitter feeling toward any one. He couldn’t lay up things like that. I’ve already told you that he’s not a man who harbors resentments. It’s not in his nature. But the memory of what he passed through here still haunts him. It always will haunt him. His experience was too terrible and tragic to be soon forgotten. Yet he blames no one but himself. He says the bishop was almost like a heavenly father to him.”
“The bishop is a saint!”
Lest she should make a spectacle of herself on the street, Ruth gave a final dab at her eyes, and then resolutely put her handkerchief away.
“Oh,” said Westgate, “I almost forgot to tell you. I saw Barry Malleson out there, too.”
“You did? Barry Malleson?”
“Yes, he rode into Apollo City on horseback while I was there. He was flannel-shirted, soft-hatted, belted and spurred, in regular cowboy style. He had come up from about fifty miles down state with Jim Crane, Mrs. Bradley’s brother. Crane has a ranch down there somewhere. You know he came east to his sister’s funeral; Barry met him here, and when he went out into that country he hunted Crane up. It seems they have become great friends. They came up to Apollo City to buy stock, and incidentally to call on Mr. Farrar.”
“How lovely! Was Barry glad to see you?”
“Glad! I thought he would never let go my hand. He insisted on my coming to visit him. He’s living down at Nogalouche.”
“Where?”