Hugh Ritson bent his head.
"And Greta?"
"She won't come," said Hugh. "The girl could never breathe the same air as that scoundrel for five minutes together."
"And yet he's her half-brother," said the lawyer, softly; and then he added, with the conventional smile: "Odd, isn't it?"
CHAPTER II.
When the procession of children had passed the little cottage at the angle of the roads, the old man who leaned on his staff at the gate turned about and stepped to the porch.
"Did the boy see them?—did he see the children?" said the young woman who held the child by the hand.
"I mak' na doot," said the old man.
He stooped to the little one and held out one long, withered finger. The soft baby hand closed on it instantly.