That boy was gone forever.
Hugh stood up and looked slowly from Sylvie, who had stayed near the
door and held her head up like a queen, to Pete.
"Where were you," he asked gently--"where were you while it stormed?"
Pete moved toward the fire, holding out his hands. "Ugh!" he shivered,
"I'm numb with cold."
"Where were you," Hugh repeated, "during the storm?"
Pete lifted his eyes slowly. They were bluer than the blue heart of
a sapphire. "Under a pine-tree," he answered casually enough, and
then, just as Hugh would have smiled, the color creeping up into his
lips, Pete's young and honest blood poured over his forehead,
engulfing him, blazing the truth across his face. Bella saw it and
clenched her hands. Sylvie's cheeks, too, caught fire. Hugh turned
from him, blinded by terror, saw Sylvie's trembling mouth in her dyed
countenance, and turned back. He lifted the hand that had held, all
this while, to the chair, and balled it into a fist.
"Don't strike him," said Sylvie quietly, not moving from her place
by the door. "Don't ever strike him again--_Ham Rutherford_!"
Hugh's bones seemed to crumble; his knees bent; he leaned back against
the chair, holding to it behind him with both hands.
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