"Good night."
She ran, with light footsteps, down the lane, and I stood alone beneath the poplars.
Far up into the deepening sky they reached, like still black sentinels, and between them glimmered a few early stars. In his bedroom I could see Tommy, holding the white rat in one hand and kneeling a moment at his very transient prayers.
I remembered a day whereon the colonel's riding-whip had been laid about Squire Morris's shoulders.
My heart beat high at the thought, for the squire had insulted one whose sweet face had long lain still. I thought of the son.
"Poor Liza," I murmured, and lifted the garden latch.
And as I looked up at Tommy's darkened window:
"God forbid," I said.
Next morning I called Tommy aside.