The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. She felt that with Capes near to her she would be content always to go on loving. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. These thoughts, however, came to a broken end. At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted.
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