Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. She is, in her way, a dear. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. “No, you didn’t. Her sister’s words were true. Wood's. " Then he became merciful. Daughters were not like sons. No man knew whence she had come nor why. “Why should it matter?” he said. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. He smothered a laugh. For whom had its sharp point been intended? Valade? Or perhaps his wife now that the girl had word of their marriage. Already he was dramatizing Ruth, involving her, now in some pearl thieving adventure, now in some impossible tale of a white goddess.
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