She shook her head.
“I recognized the man who spoke first; his name is Parsons. There were others, too, who worked on the place here in the summer.... They have heard?”
He nodded, unable to speak because of something which rose in his throat choking him. Then he saw a thin trickle of red oozing from under the fair hair above her temple, and the blood hammered in his ears.
“You are hurt!” he said thickly. “The devils struck you!”
“It’s nothing—a stone, perhaps.”
Something in the sorrowful look she gave him broke down the flimsy barrier between them.
“Lydia—Lydia!” he cried, holding out his arms.
She clung to him like a child. They stood so for a moment, listening to the sounds from without. There were still occasional shouts and the altercation of loud, angry voices; but this was momently growing fainter; presently it died away altogether.
She stirred in his arms and he stooped to look into her face.
“I—Father will be frightened,” she murmured, drawing away from him with a quick decided movement. “You must let me go.”