The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning. My poor Hoddy! I had to talk harshly, or break down and have hysterics. Never had her father explained. He was staring at her, openly gaping. He had seldom been more perturbed. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed.
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