And then she told the story of the bank failure at Cloverdale.
“The last bridge is burned surely,” Asher commented as he looked across the table at Virginia. “This is the only property we have except youth and health and hope—and—each other.”
“And the old Aydelot heritage to stand for principle, and your mother’s belief in the West and in you, and the Thaine stubbornness about giving up what they want to keep,” Virginia declared.
“As our days so shall our strength be,” Asher added, as he saw his wife’s face bright with hope and determination, and remembered the sweet face of his mother as it 121 had looked that night on the veranda of the old farmhouse by the National pike road.
For a long time down by the willows thinly shadowing Wolf Creek a white-faced man sat looking out toward the west, where a horse and rider had vanished into the mellow tones of distance.