The place is one of
her favorite spots. But bless your heart, Myra, there's no harm in it. It
would be natural for her to get interested in any one making a picture of
a place she loves as she does that old spring glade. She has spent days at
a time there--ever since she was big enough to go that far from home."
"It's strange that she has not mentioned it to me," said the
woman--troubled in spite of the Ranger's reassuring words.
The man directed his attention suddenly to his horse; "Max! You let
Sibyl's roses alone." The animal turned his head questioningly toward his
master. "Back!" said the Ranger, "back!" At his word, the chestnut
promptly backed across the yard until the officer called, "That will do,"
when he halted, and, with an impatient toss of his head, again looked
toward the porch, inquiringly. "You are all right now," said the man.
Whereupon the horse began contentedly cropping the grass.
"I met Mr. King, accidentally, once, at the depot in Fairlands," continued
the woman with the disfigured face. "He impressed me, then, as being a
genuinely good man--a true gentleman. But, judging from his books, Conrad
Lagrange is not a man I would wish Sibyl to meet.
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